


Immiscible Souls

by SophieGraceJ



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Violence, Elf/Human Relationship(s), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eros and Thanatos, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Hades and Persephone (Hellenistic Religion & Lore), M/M, Other, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2019-12-30 07:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophieGraceJ/pseuds/SophieGraceJ
Summary: He was no monster, no, not in appearance at least.There was nothing monstrous about the aen seidhe legend, not even the violent scar on the right side of his face, the hollowed eye socket or vacant expression. No, he was almost pretty. No, he was more than pretty. His green eye, earthy and cool but filled with so much disgust piercing right through her.He didn’t stare for much longer before demanding something in elven tongue.The hole in Ailidh’s stomach warned her of a dangerous path ahead, not even Irra would be able to save her from the hatred. She’d have to fight for respect herself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!!!  
> So this is Immiscible Souls rewritten, still with Ailidh and Iorveth haha  
> I'm so sorry it took me so long to do, to update and stuff. I just got so distracted with other stuff and yeah haha  
> Hope you all enjoy! :D

1274, upper Aedirn, Pontar Valley, South-east of Vergen

‘Loc Muinne, once home to long-extinct creatures known as the vran, then to the magnificent race of Aen Seidhe, has been a location of world-changing events for as long as it has existed. Human children (sources) trained in magic by elven sages. The spark of war, ignited by the massacre on all elves by the Redanians only to be ended by another cruel blood-bath. Violence and knowledge bless and curse the mostly destroyed architecture. War, the ravaging fire it is, has brought chaos upon the city, and now with the final victory of Nilfgaard over the Northern Kingdoms, it has become a desolate place. Abandoned to evolve into nothing but a folktale that children will tell their children, and so on. 

‘Some believe it is a cursed place, the harrowing sight buried within the peaks of the Blue Mountains, waiting to be spilled with blood and prosperity. A skeleton of a glorious past that may never rise to meets its younger days. A tragedy not many ponder over, is the city of Loc Muinne that rises from morning mist and into the everlasting sky.’ 

~ Anonymous Oxenfurt student

“What are you reading, child?” 

Ailidh spared no moment in folding the parchment and forcing it into Irra’s aging leather bag, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been sneaking around, I just, where are we going?”  
Irra’s light, feathery brows furrowed, a familiar sight, as she sat down beside Ailidh at their dining table. A routine she would miss whenever they would finally leave for whatever Irra had decided for them. For something Irra had not told Ailidh a single detail about. 

“Some old friends of mine are in dire need of help, and I do not wish to leave you here all by yourself.”

“You really don’t trust me?” 

Irra smiled a scolding look, one that Ailidh knew was a warning, a light one, but still a warning. “I do trust you, it is the outside world I don’t trust. Tensions are rising here Ailidh, I believe it will only take for one political mishap to ignite a new yet ever familiar conflict.” 

Ailidh sighed, defeat and understanding woven into the gentle lines of her face. She could always feel the creases in her forehead and between her brows move and mould, she always felt it whenever she was distressed, sad…

“I’m just afraid Irra. I don’t wish to leave home, what if we come back to it destroyed, raided, taken over by bandits or worse?” 

It only broke her heart more when she read the words within Irra’s eyes, they weren’t going to return home … There was no coming back. 

Ailidh chose to suppress it inside, hide it away until another more proper time. She confided in silently packing her things. A few books, some small gifts given to her from Irra’s youngest patient Dillon, her stuffed toy Irra had made for her when she was around twelve years old – when her nightmares were particularly bad – clothing and her favourite red fabric. The expensive chiffon felt beautiful beneath the pads of her fingers, surely, it’d be enough to remind her of home. Of going into Vergen every once and while to spend well-earned coin, not that she did that often, only once or twice, usually to purchase a gift for Irra, or in this case to buy one lovely thing for herself. Irra had told her the red suited her passion, her care and gentleness but also a temper. Ailidh had frowned at that. 

A bad temper wasn’t a term she’d use to describe herself… Irra had also said she was ignorant, bright but ignorant. Maybe red suited her much more than she thought.

They were on the road all too soon. Ailidh gave their wooden cabin one last goodbye with a lone flower stem, a flower she didn’t know the name of, but it was pretty and she saw them often by their home clearing, she laid it at the front door, by the creaky steps. Irra had smiled sadly at the sight. 

Ailidh felt a small tear roll down her cheek but that was all. That was all they gave before turning their backs to home and walking onwards. 

“So where are we going? You still haven’t told me Irra.” 

It was a short while before Irra answered the question, but it felt like forever under the hot Aedirnian sun that seeped through the canopies above them. Ailidh found herself in a pattern of rubbing at the back of her sweaty neck, wiping away stray hairs and sighing to the rhythm of her footsteps. 

“We are going just north-west of the Valley of flowers. It shall be a few days journey.” Ailidh almost stumbled, eyes widening, silenced by the sheer excitement … Dol Blathana? “My friends have an encampment there, in a cave system, hidden away from Aedirnian rebels and Nilfgaardian soldiers-”

“-why are they in hiding? What’d they do?” 

Bliss and excitement were suddenly eroded with suspicion and anxiety, what kind of people was Irra friends with? 

“They’re scoia-tael. Aen seidhe outlaws, criminals.” 

Ailidh huffed a large breath and ran to catch up with Irra, it didn’t help that Irra had long legs, that she could travel at a much faster speed than herself. “Scoia-tael? You’re surely jesting?”  
Irra shook her head, wearing a much more grief-stricken look than Ailidh had expected. “No jests. They need magical aid, and I am who they went to first, perhaps the only one they could come to.” 

“But, but, they won’t let me stay. You must know that. Do they know you’re bringing me with you?”

“No, I have not told them of you, nor should I have to.”

“But they’re scoia-tael! They hate humans! The first thing they’ll do is shoot an arrow through my skull!” 

Not once did Irra stop to explain, and it frustrated Ailidh to a point of no return. She could feel the creases in her face churning with fury. Perhaps she did have a rather bad temper, but a valid bad temper.

“All they’ll see is something they hate, they’ll treat me like absolute garbage at the least. You can’t do this to me, you can’t take me away from home and put me through this hell! It’s unfair!” 

Not another word was spoken of the scoia-tael, Ailidh had voiced her opinion and got no response. She knew there was no use in arguing. They continued their journey without much conversation, and Ailidh knew why. 

Irra was feeling guilty. 

A few hours and the sun was waning, warmth was dispersing all too sudden and Ailidh was cowering into herself, focusing on anything but the chill and fear of the future. Early evening, Irra motioned towards the edge of a small forest. 

“Ailidh, my child, can you please see if there are any useful herbs? We are running low.” 

She nodded, leaving Irra to ignite a campfire with her precise hands. It always brought Ailidh to a trance when she saw the chaos becoming something beautiful in the palms of Irra’s hands. If only she could harness that power too…

After wandering a bit, Ailidh came across a clearing overflowing with celandine and mousetail orchids, not much else however. She worked up a sweat from bending over and pulling at the deeply rooted plants, putting them gently in her wicker basket. A few times she stumbled and tripped, there was not much sunlight lingering through the leaves up above, but it wasn’t dark enough that she was blind to tree roots and ditches. 

It was a calming act. Like pulling weeds back home. No, no don’t think about home. 

“I am sorry my child. It isn’t fair, but I couldn’t leave you alone.” 

Ailidh stopped chewing her loaf of bread, cheeks puffy and full with food, she looked up at shamed blue eyes…

Like a knife in the heart, it pierced into her skin and flesh. It hurt. She swallowed and scrunched up the fabric of her clothes, “It’s okay Irra. I overreacted. If they’re your friends, I’ll do everything I can to help … I just, I can’t forget what happened-”

“-I know my child. Nor should you ever forget.” She smiled sadly, and brushed her lithe fingers over the flames of their campfire, the orange flickering and dancing to the movement of them. “I still remember the day I found you … You were so small, so innocent to the violence. I could see the destruction in the distance, where they had plundered your home. Some humanity in them must have let you go, but ever since that day, I could never forgive myself for not going back there and killing every last one of them, I can’t forgive myself for ignoring the horrors my kind brought upon you.” 

“No, Irra. You saved me. Your kindness saved me, not your anger. If you had gone there … you would have regretted it forever.” Ailidh moved from her side of the campsite to Irra, she snuggled into the Aen Seidhe to find a much sweeter warmth than that which radiated from the flames. She cowered her face into the crook of Irra’s neck, finding the floral scent of blonde hair soothing. Irra always smelt earthy.

“My sweet child, it is your kindness that saved me, not mine that saved you.” 

Ailidhs tears soaked into the fur of Irra’s cloak, not to be noticed and soon to be forgotten by herself. 

They fell into a routine as they headed south to their longed-for destination. Ailidh would fall asleep to the melody of Irra’s singing. In her mother tongue Irra would sing. Some words Ailidh could understand though most she could not. Irra often sang about a girl, aen seidhe or human, Ailidh didn’t know, but it was about a young girl who was taken from her mother, the mother searched the world for her daughter, her sorrow spilling eternal winter to the land. What happened to the girl, Ailidh couldn’t say, and if the girl was ever reunited with her mother was a mystery. But she often dreamed about it in her sleep. 

“Look to the mountains my child, you can see the Valley of Flowers from here. Magnificent.” 

Irra was right. As usual…

Ailidh stood outstretched on her tip toes and looked out to the east where looming mountains resided. Below those very mountains was exactly what Irra said. 

A valley of flowers.

“It’s beautiful… I’ve never seen anything like it, have you ever been there? Inside the stone walls?” 

“Only a few times when I was young like you, so long ago did we have a land of our own, things can change so fast.”

“I’m sorry Irra, I wish things could have been different.” Ailidh wasn’t entirely sure why she felt the need to apologize, no, no she was. It was her kind that had destroyed the Aen Seidhe, belittled them into something less than who they truly were. 

“I wish so too my child, I wish so too.” 

There wasn’t much further to go, at least that’s what Irra had believed as she gazed up and down between the map that was sent to her, and the landscape before them. Doubt was transforming into fear and fear was growing into anger, Ailidh could feel the flames licking up her veins like poison. 

They would see her as a disgusting creature, a dirty dh’oine worth nothing but a glare, nothing but hatred. They would banish her, force Irra to abandon her. The scoia-tael would do as they once did. Take away her only home because she was human …

“I believe we are lost my dear child.” 

“What do we do now? We can’t stay out here in the open, there could be bandits, monsters. Look out there, a Nilfgaardian camp. You sure your friends would be hiding near their enemies?”  
Irra turned to Ailidh with a smile, “In fact, I do believe they would. These scoia-tael are cunning. They are hiding beneath the black one’s noses. They are most probably watching the encampments now, stealing supplies like the little foxes and squirrels they are.” 

Ailidh couldn’t help but smile too, to her utmost shame. 

She could envision the scouts painted in green and red, like nymphs running through forests and across tree canopies. Sly and quick, quiet and elegant. It was endearing, more endearing than she would admit out loud.

Irra and Ailidh treaded towards the Nilfgaardian outpost, it wasn’t so big and there weren’t many soldiers in their black armour, and golden suns. But it was enough to be wary of. They were a dark cloud over the land, blocking out their own sun with a promise of war if someone as much as stepped on their toe.

Ailidh followed Irra into another secluded forest bordering by the black ones camp. The flowers were vibrant, almost mocking the greying sky and heavy clouds. 

“There’s something different about this forest, everything is so colourful and alive,” Ailidh whispered. She looked to Irra who wore a similar emotion to what Ailidh was feeling. 

“Aen Seidhe have been here my child. The earth blooms under our feet, it once was our land and it remembers. Our blood mingles with its own,” Irra said, brushing a hand down the bark of a tree. Ailidh smiled at the way the birds sung in the sky, as if they were welcoming one of their own…

And then the smile was taken. 

She didn’t belong. 

“We shall sleep here for the night, we are well protected from any dangers.” Ailidh agreed and dropped her bags and wicker basket into a pile at the base of a tall tree, Irra did the same. “Would you mind gathering fire wood my child, I must revaluate our path, I fear I made a mistake.” 

“That’d be a first.”

“Ailidh … No need to be cheeky.” Ailidh laughed, enjoying the way she put a wide grin on Irra’s usually stern face. 

Whenever Irra spoke of the Aen Seidhe and their connection to the world, a concept no human would ever understand, Ailidh had believed she was speaking a folktale, a myth. How could soil, water and rock have a relationship with a living being? How could there be any type of communication. 

But it soon changed when she first planted a flower in their garden. Irra had bought her a seedling for a daisy early spring one year many years ago. It had captivated her childish mind for the next year. Watering, mulching and so on, she couldn’t get enough of caring for the beautiful flower. 

There was a change in herself, in her child head. Irra had told her that perhaps she was wrong about humans not being able to understand. 

All life is connected, all life feeds into one another, all life dies and all life is reborn. A flower blooms in the spring and thrives in the summer, but withers slowly during the autumn and finally falls to its rest in winter. But nothing ever truly dies…

There always is and always will be another spring. 

Ailidh couldn’t help but touch everything she saw during her scavenging of firewood. Plants, flowers and herbs. Nothing was hidden from her gaze. And she couldn’t hide from its gaze either. 

Although she was alone, she felt a presence. At first, she thought of it as just mother nature watching over her, until she heard the break of a stick behind her. Like creaky steps back home. 

Nostalgia? Fear? Maybe both, she stumbled to look behind her to see nothing. No. It wasn’t on the forest floor, no it was up above she heard the noise. 

Aen Seidhe have been here. 

Not just Aen Seidhe, but scoia-tael.

Ailidh tried to ignore it, the paranoia eating away at her, forcing her to a trance. When would the arrow come? When would the sword plunge into her heart? When would the war cry of a people that hated her kind for what they did. 

But it never came…

And then she saw the deer. Young, but alone. Small but not shy or afraid of her. 

It stood by a tree, grazing at the long grass, its large brown eyes staring at her, or perhaps through her. Its pointed ears upright and twitching at every sound of breeze, at every breath Ailidh inhaled and exhaled. 

“Hello.” Ailidh slowly walked in its direction, a childish part of her wishing to be near the animal, so exotic and pretty. She wished to show to pet its fur, to show that she meant no harm. To show that they were one and the same. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered as she began to get closer and closer, arm’s length away from the creature. Her hand outstretched, its head leaning into it… She grinned from ear to ear. 

And then she stumbled to the ground at the squeak that erupted from it. Something flew past her neck and in the deer’s direction. It whistled only to become silent. 

The deer was collapsed before her, just like her. Its eyes dead and still, as was its body. Tears welled in her eyes, her heart pounded to the thoughts and fears in her head. 

An arrow lay deeply in its flesh, the tail of it feathered and dyed red. 

Footsteps flexed out to her ears from not far behind, voices wavered in and out outside of the paralysis she had come to. 

She was remembering. 

The screams, the smoke, the heavy weight on her chest. The heat, the fire, the pain. The villagers falling like trees, some burning to the ground, some being pinned down by arrows and swords. She, just a small child, running and running till no more could she smell ash and blood. 

“On your feet d’hoine!” 

A woman. Lilt otherwise sweet and melodic, but not delivered kindly. 

“Now!” 

She didn’t have to think, all she could do was oblige, act quickly. She pushed onto her feet and turned to see the face of a vengeful aen seidhe warrior. Vengeful she was, dark eyes beady and narrowed, lips curled into a growl. War paint red and stained into bright skin. 

She wasn’t the only one. There were others in the background, a blur but visible. They had her surrounded. Some in trees, some on the ground watching and ready to pounce with their arrows loaded in strong grips and bows, smiling and whispering about her, the filthy dh’oine. 

The aen seidhe warrior carried her sword across her shoulders, behind her neck like it was nothing but decoration. 

Ailidh knew better.

“You’ve trespassed dh’oine. Punishment is death for that, no exceptions,” the woman seethed, Ailidh should have been terrified but instead felt an incredible numbness. 

Where was Irra? Was she okay?

“I’m sorry, for, for trespassing. I was with a woman, an aen seidhe like you, have you seen her?” 

“I’m the one who will be asking questions, not the other way around dh’oine.” The scoia-tael observing the scene laughed or at least smirked, they mustn’t have received guests in their forest like her before. Finally, some good prey.

Like that poor deer…

Ailidh couldn’t help but look back at it. Not much blood surprisingly, but it was a kill shot. Must have punctured an important organ, maybe its heart, she didn’t get much time to see. The other scoia-tael were demanding the woman to take action.

Perhaps Ailidh would end up like the dead creature behind her.

“Just kill her already! Put her head on a pike and those filthy dh’oines will know not to venture here!” 

“But make it slow and painful! A dirty little thing like her hasn’t known anything terrible its whole life I bet!” 

Ailidh shook her head, trying to shake off their words as if they were empty threats, knowing full well they voiced her fate.

“I’m here with another woman, she received a letter from a band of scoia-tael. She’s a sorceress, was asked to help. Where is she?”

The only response Ailidh received was the back of the woman’s hand on her cheek. She trembled back, a gasp fallen from her mouth and echoing around the trees. She cradled her face, tears rolling down without shame. 

“I told you not to ask questions, dh’oine. Besides what would an aen seidhe sorceress be doing with your kind?” 

“I’m telling the truth, what more do you want?” 

No answer. Just chuckles from all directions, man and woman. The warrior nodded to somewhere behind Ailidh and that’s when she became aware of someone behind her. They kicked the backs of her knees, sent her tumbling to the ground as if she were to pray at a shrine. 

The man – yes, a man, his hands were firm not lithe, his growl masculine and deep – grasped a hand full of her hair and pulled, her eyes staring up at the vengeful warrior. 

“You deaf dh’oine? I said answers not questions.” 

Ailidh’s tears soon dried, and she was left with nothing but pain and discomfort. And something else. An itch behind her eyes, in her throat. She wriggled in the man’s grip and growled between clenched teeth, hands reaching for the man’s fingers that latched onto her scalp. 

“Look at this! It’s a dh’oine girl with some fight, they usually just give up! Beg for their lives or offer their bodies like common whores!” 

The warrior glaring down at her smirked, and it almost winded Ailidh. The woman was beautiful, dangerously beautiful. A murderous glint in her eyes, a twist in her features. “This one’s no whore. Too clean and modest to be a whore.” The woman grabbed a hold of Ailidh’s chin and tilted her face around like it were a piece of rock she found somewhat interesting. Her dark eyes hinting a somewhat humoured reaction to the sudden blush on Ailidh’s face. 

“Ailidh!” 

A familiar voice. A cry and shout in the language of elves. 

Irra. 

The woman – understanding Irra – immediately let go of Ailidh’s face and ordered the man behind her to retract the grasp of her hair. 

“My child, what have they done to you?” 

“It’s fine Irra. They thought I was a threat, I shouldn’t have wandered off on my own-”

“-no, they should not have acted so disgustingly.” Irra finally released Ailidh from a suffocating hug, as if to protect her from the whole entire world. Irra turned to someone, someone new Ailidh hadn’t noticed before. “Was that necessary? What do you tell your foot soldiers? Does the girl look like a threat Iorveth?” 

Iorveth. 

She knew that name. She knew that name from stories both Aen Seidhe and humans spoke in whispers. A bloodthirsty terrorist, a hero, a legendary commander amongst scoia-tael and killer of dh’oine…

“No, but she is a dh’oine and they cannot be trusted. For all they knew she could have been a spy, Nilfgaardian or otherwise. We aren’t taking any chances, I thought you’d understand, after all you used to be one of us.” 

“What?” Ailidh couldn’t help but interrupt, stumbling to her feet and ignoring the glares from all around. “You were a scoia-tael?” 

“Not now Ailidh.” 

“Why not now?” 

Ailidh didn’t mean to, but she was crying. Eyes red and swollen, perhaps just as swollen as her cheek. Irra’s eyes grimaced at the sight. There must have been a bruise already forming. Ailidh tried to wipe away the tears that wouldn’t stop slipping down her skin like ice bit it went to no avail. 

Irra said not a word, and neither did Ailidh as she finally met the gaze of him… Of Iorveth, the ghost that haunted her for so long. A tale humans would whisper at night to spook their children into submission. 

‘Be good or Iorveth will come for you.” 

He was no monster, no, not in appearance at least. 

There was nothing monstrous about the aen seidhe legend, not even the violent scar on the right side of his face, the hollowed eye socket or vacant expression. No, he was almost pretty. No, he was more than pretty. His green eye, earthy and cool but filled with so much disgust piercing right through her. 

He didn’t stare for much longer before demanding something in elven tongue.

The hole in Ailidh’s stomach warned her of a dangerous path ahead, not even Irra would be able to save her from the hatred. She’d have to fight for respect herself.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 2nd chapter!  
> Iorveth will find that Ailidh is as stubborn as he is XD

“What’s with the dh’oine?” 

Iorveth could already tell it was a bad idea, but he couldn’t help himself. He rarely could anymore. The little empathy he had for others was slowly waning with time. It made him hate humans more, they made him like this after all.

“None of your business. You asked for my help and I am here, what does it matter?” 

“Really? I never thought of you as a dh’oine sympathiser, but then again, you always were softer than most.” That hit a nerve. Irra stopped what she was doing almost instantly, her hands clenching into fists at her side. For a moment Iorveth was sure she would strike him down with her magic.

“Funny, I never thought of you as a delinquent, but then again, you always were more muscle than brain.” 

He had to laugh at the wit that still remained in the older aen siedhe. He always admired that most about her, found comfort in it when he was younger and fighting with hope and optimism. It was a time he deeply missed but also found immature. Turned out being hopeful was a bad trait, especially for those who wanted to survive. 

“Fair enough… Still, is it such a surprise that I wish to know more about this dh’oine you’ve taken under your wing? My unit isn’t exactly happy with it in our camp, neither am I in all honesty,” he gritted, practically walking in circles around Irra’s private quarters. It used to be his, but Irra needed it more than him, besides he didn’t use it much and it barely had anything of his in it. He didn’t own much other than the clothes on his back, a bow, sword and daggers. 

“She’s not an it, Iorveth. Her name is Ailidh and she is my ward if it intrigues you so much.” Irra just about scowled at him with her ice-coloured eyes. He also remembered being deeply afraid of her in the young squirrel days. The days where he believed all the horror and fighting actually went to something, got the aen seidhe a step closer to freedom. “You should know she’s sacrificed much to be here, even her own pride.” 

Iorveth frowned, froze in his spot. An anger rushed his veins all too soon, and he knew Irra recognised it. “I did not mean it like that Iorveth. She is no racist.” 

She went back to unpacking her belongings – things like herbs, potions and creams, ancient books and ancient looking artefacts – and placing them neatly in ways that were all too familiar. 

In the early days, she was a powerful scoia-tael ally, a powerful non-human ally. A healer, a warrior, a mother-figure and a beacon of hope. Now she was adopting vermin… What had it all come to?

“I read the entirety of your letter, and I have to say it interested me more than I had anticipated. Loc Muinne? What are you squirrels planning? That burial site has nothing to offer.” 

He smiled – a thing he knew made people uncomfortable, for some reason he had a vindictive smile, something he couldn’t help with the scar – and sat in a darker corner, on a wooden chair one of his scouts found in an abandoned dh’oine village. Must have been Aedirnian rebels, they were becoming more active as time went on. He didn’t mind it at all, took the attention of the black ones off of him and his people.

“You mustn’t have read it properly then.” Irra finished her unpacking and fell to the fur mattress with a huff, eyes like small slits as she glared at him. “It’s a barren place. Not even the Nilfgaards want it. It would be the perfect place to regroup, gain strength and numbers.” 

“And then what? Ignite another war? Sounds foolish to me, why not focus on leaving the outlaw life and finding peace?” 

He scoffed. “No such thing as peace. At least not the kind you speak of. Besides, I am a wanted elf, every dh’oine knows my face, knows my scar. I’d be executed without a doubt. The only peace I know is being a ghost, that’s not a life I wish to continue.” 

Irra’s face dropped and he knew it was pity, something he really didn’t need, “I don’t need your sympathy Irra, that’s not why I asked for you. I asked for you because of your abilities. And because you’re the only being powerful enough to stand up to that traitor they call the duchess of Dol Blathana.” 

Her eyes widened considerably. Her face paled and her brows rose to her hairline. “You wish to start a war with Francesca? That’s not victory you seek, but inevitable death-”

“-not necessarily. Did it ever occur to you how strange it is that no one has stepped foot in that city? Not the Aedirnians, not the Nilfgaardians, nor Francesca Findabair.” 

Irra went quiet, her face silenced just as her voice. He analysed the contemplation fade into exitance within her eyes, she nodded along to the silence, as if counting stars in her head. “Something is keeping them from it. Perhaps something they fear…” 

Worry brushed by her features, “If that is the truth, then it must be something truly dangerous to keep them from it. In fact, I would say it is certain there is something in that city that should not be meddled with.” 

Iorveth sighed, rubbing his hand down a tired face. It was late, later than he expected. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out, that’s why we need you. We’re not stupid enough to send in a brigade to what could be a massacre. We need to investigate. If there is something there, it could be worth a look. It could be our path to victory.” 

“Correct me if I am wrong, but you are planning on harnessing a potentially mass destructive weapon and using it against who? The Nilfgaardians and a duchess with enough power in her pinky finger to wipe out an army?” 

“Well, when you put it like that…” Iorveth couldn’t help but smirk, shrugging in delight. It was ludicrous plan, an idea that he and his unit had spent almost a year building upon, working on it with other scoia-tael units spread out through the Northern Realms. Ludicrous but the only thing they had left. 

Irra sighed into her hands, shaking her head as if she were to walk out and be done with him already. It wouldn’t surprise him, but what did surprise him was a new voice.

“I, I’m sorry to interrupt. Could I speak with Irra for a moment?” 

He turned to the dh’oine knowing his face was contorted into a scowl. He wanted her to know he was disgusted, to hell with Irra’s disapproval of his behaviour. 

The dh’oine however didn’t seem fazed at all, perhaps half-expecting it. No, she wasn’t fazed, but it was obvious it hurt her. Thin lips thinned so far as to be just a line of pink on a square looking face. 

So human looking. No sharp bones, no delicate eyes or flawless skin like aen seidhe women. Was she even a woman yet? 

No, she was definitely of age if he judged by the curves and shape of her body. It did nothing for him. She was of average height, far from skinny, if not even a little stocky. Too human. 

“Yes, my child, Iorveth was just leaving.” 

Iorveth almost rolled his eyes, but thought better of it. 

Before he could walk past the dh’oine and escape the room, he couldn’t help but notice the redness of her fat cheeks, and the freckles that darkened over her nose and under doe eyes. Brown. Like earth, just as was her hair that sat in a bun behind her head. 

To his dismay, he had a feeling he’d be seeing that face often in the freezing cold cave system. Just his luck…

And worse, his dismay had been painfully accurate. It followed Irra around like a lost dog, awkward and unnatural in the environment like a mutt in a Nilfgaardian palace, not that the cave was anywhere near that luxurious, which said even more about the dh’oine and its lack of elegance. 

Everywhere. Absolutely everywhere. She walked around like a ghost, haunting the echoing cavern. Just about every hour, one of his soldiers would come up to him to complain about the thing. Not like he could forward the complaints to its owner, if he said even a word to Irra about it, she’d turn him into ash. He’d give the dh’oine thing, it had gained Irra’s utmost care and respect. 

“I can’t believe it gets to eat with us.” He listened as Egan gossiped with Maeve and a few younger aen seidhe warriors. Young they were. He hoped they would live longer than him, but going by their impulsive nature and recklessness, they would be buried in the earth in only a short matter of time. 

He followed their gaze to a shadowy area in the communal room of the caves, where they would eat, play foolish games, get high and drunk on a small victory – usually stealing from the black ones and Aedirnians – or socialise – sometimes trysts would occur, and sometimes he was apart of them, but not often. 

Alone, it sat and ate in silence. Irra was busy in the laboratory, the one they had set up last minute for her. Who knows what she worked on in there. Possibly just research with Nessa, a bright aen seidhe woman whom he admired deeply. 

In another life he may have felt guilty at the sight. Everyone ignored it, and if they ever did notice it, it was to glare in disgust or shoulder into it as they walked past. 

It… 

Maybe he felt the tiniest bit of guilt. The dh’oine was still a living thing, that much he could acknowledge. Life was life. Still, rodents were living creatures and didn’t receive sympathy, that’s what dh’oines were. Rats. 

“I can’t believe Iorveth allows it to stay, if I were in his position, I’d banish it regardless of what the sorceress thought.” 

“Agreed, but I’m afraid our commander had no choice. We need Irra, and if it means we have to shelter a dh’oine to have her help, so be it.” 

“It’s just an insult. We’ve been fighting humans for how long? And now we’re living in a dirty cave with one.” 

He had to hold in a laugh at their bickering, there was something humorous about it. They were letting it get to them too much, taking it to heart. The dh’oine was quickly becoming number one conversation in the cold, damp hideout. 

The dh’oine was unbeknownst to it. Sure, they probably knew their presence wasn’t being taken lightly, that they would never belong, they wouldn’t feel even a sense of belonging for as long as Irra decided to stay, but they seemed to hide it well. Maybe they blocked the hurtful words out? 

He knew the feeling. All of his kind had known it. Still do. 

So no, he didn’t feel any guilt. Not even when Maeve walked up to the dh’oine and mock tripped, “accidentally” dropping her bowl of stew onto the said dh’oine. There was a crowd of laughter throughout the cavern room, overpowering the ghost-like howls of wind bouncing from wall to wall, the laughter just about overpowered every cave-harbouring sound, the dripping of water, the whimpers of bats. 

“Oops, didn’t see you there.” Maeve said so seriously, Iorveth considered that maybe she was an actress in a past life. She walked back to her group with an empty bowl and sadistic smile, leaving behind a shocked dh’oine covered in yellowish, most probably steaming hot rabbit stew. 

He didn’t feel guilt, no, but he also didn’t find it funny one bit. He found it immature, unnecessary but nothing he said would stop them from the childish antics. 

“What the fuck Maeve? You really had to do that?” 

The laughter silenced, and his attention – along with everyone else eating their supper – was brought to none other than Owyn. 

He stood tall, but scrawny, by the Dh’oines side, as if to hide her away from all the hatred filled eyes. His own were watery, a striking blue, similar to a clear sky glazed with what could be tears. 

“It was an accident really. Maybe she shouldn’t have gotten in my way.” 

“Of course, it was. Could we call me putting a fork through your hand an accident too?” 

“That’s enough!” Iorveth yelled into the crowded space, locking eyes with the dh’oine who now stood by the tunnel that led to the sleeping quarters. Tears fell like the dewy substance on the cave walls. Brown eyes weeping and swollen, lips quivering. 

It was a sad sight, but didn’t last long. She was gone before his unit could begin a riot about the whole event that had come to pass. 

He couldn’t wait for Irra to wreak hell on him. 

But pleasantly enough, the fiasco wasn’t ever brought up. However, the dh’oine now had an ally, Owyn. He didn’t leave her side from then on. He sat with her in silence and ate. Ignored his companions and the inquisitive eyes. No one considered a act like that again by the looks of it, and he found himself conflicted of whether to be pleased or annoyed. 

“It’s honourable,” Iorveth said one day, early morning while they trained under the hot Aedirnian sun, hidden away in their now protected forest – thanks to Irra’s magic – and he received a confused look from Owyn. 

“What is sir?” 

“What you’re doing for the dh’oine. Not many would do that. I know I wouldn’t.” 

Owyn frowned, and continued practising with his sword, swinging it harshly, he was naturally talented but still unpolished with his strikes and stance. He was too passionate, and if he were ever in a real fight, he’d leave himself vulnerable to fatal attacks swinging so wide and far. 

“It’s not her fault. She hasn’t done anything wrong.” His voice was uneven, breathless as he continued fighting nothing in the clearing. Iorveth smiled. All the other young aen seidhe that practised were in a blur around them, he was too focused on the honourable boy. He’d never seen a scoia-tael like him. One without hate in their blood. 

“But she is human.” 

“What of it? Not all humans are bad,” Owyn snapped back. Hmm, it seemed to be a weakness of his. He was naïve, or maybe too hopeful. A rare thing in the world they lived in. A rare thing for an elf. 

“You’ve lived a short life, if you saw half of what I’ve seen, you would feel differently. It’s just the way of things, it’s not ideal but it is what it is,” Iorveth said, wary enough not to seem like he was pushing his beliefs onto the young elf. It wasn’t his place to make someone feel hate. 

“So you would rather stay in the past than make a better future for both humans and aen seidhe?” 

Iorveth would never admit it aloud, but Owyn left him stunned and silent. Unable to give an honest answer. 

Maybe he was too stuck in the past, but it didn’t help that most humans had a knife to his throat, pushing him back into the past, threatening that so much as a step into the future would mean death and extinction for their kind. It wasn’t so black and white. That’s what young aen seidhe like Owyn would never understand. 

As time moved on, so did everyone else. The dh’oine was long forgotten, stuck to herself and tried her best not to bother anyone. Whenever Iorveth saw her, he could tell she felt like she was walking on egg shells. And again, he couldn’t feel sorry for her. Why should he?

Elves have felt like that far longer than her.

Owyn still persisted on being a body guard, not that they seemed to speak much. They had a silent understanding, he’d make sure the stew fiasco wouldn’t happen again and she’d make sure not to get in anyone’s way. 

“What is it Jaime?” Iorveth sighed, standing over a water basin, hair wet and hovering over his face from his scalp. 

Jaime, one of his squadron leaders, stood at the entrance of his tent that barely stood intact. It was small, but he didn’t mind it. It was enough, and enough was the best he would get. 

“Irra wishes to speak with you, she says there might be a way of finding out what lies in loc Muinne.” Her voice was soft and sent shivers down his spine. He could feel her gaze heavy on his naked body. He grimaced. 

“Tell her I’ll be only a moment.” She answered immediately with a yes sir, but before she could turn to leave, he asked for a favour. “And if the dh’oine is with her, ask for them to leave. I’d rather not discuss such matters with a human around.” 

Predictably, the dh’oine was still in Irra’s private quarters when he arrived. He knew Jaime hadn’t ignored his orders, so Irra must have obviously ignored them. He would never win with that aen seidhe. 

Iorveth ignored the dh’oine entirely but he could feel her eyes on him. 

“You’ve had success?” 

Irra stood from her desk with a smile he’d never witnessed on her before and began to worry. 

This couldn’t be good.

“Yes. I do believe I have.” She looked in the dh’oine’s direction and it stirred his stomach. He couldn’t help but cross his arms over his chest, eye squinted and lips curled in a sneer. 

“Why’s the dh’oine in here? I thought my orders were clear, or did Jaime not tell you?” 

In the corner of his eye he saw the dh’oine fidget and shuffle where she sat, eyes downcast and lips thinned. 

He made her nervous. Good. 

“I think Ailidh needs to hear this, for she is a major factor in the plan I have-”

“-you’ve got to be kidding.” Iorveth’s heart felt as if it could burst, his veins fiery and popping out to trace along his skin like a river flowing through land, blue and violent.

“I already knew you would react like this, but perhaps you should hear me out.” 

“Why? Because you know more than me, because you’re always right?” 

He hadn’t been expecting it, but a laugh came from the dh’oine and both him and Irra turned to her. 

Her eyes were wide and she looked to be embarrassed, but there was humour and laughter still lingering on her lips. He quirked a brow but chose to ignore the dh’oine. 

“Because you trusted me enough to ask for my help. It has been nearly a whole week and this is the only plausible thing I could come up with. If you do not like it, suit yourself, but I will not be sticking around any longer -”

“-fine. Just spit it out already.” 

Irra let out a breath of relief, eyes no longer irritated and cold. She wandered back to her desk and tucked away a loose blonde hair from her face, “There is a Nilfgaardian outpost nearby.” Iorveth rolled his eyes. 

“They’ve been there for as long as we’ve been in this cave Irra, you’re telling me nothing new-”

“-they do not know of your presence and nor will they ever with the spell I’ve cast over this forest, and so we must keep it that way. But, you must also know that they have information on Loc Muinne.” 

“Your point?” 

“There is no way one of your scouts could trespass and steal any information without being noticed, and they will no trust anything other than their own. However,” Irra paused her speech and walked to where the dh’oine sat frozen and apprehensive, “they also don’t know we have a human on our side.” 

Iorveth couldn’t help but linger his gaze on the dh’oine. He already knew where it was going, and a part of him wanted to rebel and yell that he was not going to trust vermin like her, but it also made too much sense. 

“You want the dh’oine to be a spy? Just because she is human does not mean they’ll trust her.” 

“She will make them trust her. She will give them information on scoia-tael and aedirnian rebels, get closer and perhaps gather information on Loc Muinne. They will not ever suspect a thing.” 

“What if she betrays us?” 

“I won’t. I’m not like that,” the dh’oine barely whispered but it managed to take his voice away. He glanced down at her, her doe eyes blinking up at him watery and tired. 

“Your words don’t mean anything.” 

“Because I’m human?” He nodded, eye narrowing upon her. His blood boiled, so did hers. He could see her nose flare a little. It reminded him of when his scouts ambushed her, when Feindhelm had her hair in his hand. Her face red and simmering. 

“You’ve no idea dh’oine, you’ve no idea how much horror your kind has caused for the Aen seidhe, so don’t think that you’re safe from me because of Irra. You so much as cause any trouble for us, I’ll have you tied to a tree with raw meat, and watch as you’re eaten alive by wolves.” He was half-expecting Irra to kill him then and there, but it felt as if she disappeared entirely. It was just him and the dh’oine who’s anger only seemed to rise in heat. 

“It goes both ways. It’s not just humans. You scoia-tael don’t care who you have to kill to get what you want. You kill for fun. You’re monsters,” she practically spat, standing upright and closing in on him. He sneered, felt his teeth grit. 

Still no sign of Irra putting a stop to their confrontation. 

“I won’t disagree. You could never fathom how satisfying it is to watch the life fade from their eyes. Like pulling weeds. King or peasant, it’s one less dh’oine and I’d gladly stain the earth with the blood of everyone of you rodents.” 

The dh’oine had tears welling but she didn’t give in. 

“It’s funny, you go on about saving your kind and avenging them, but you’d much rather kill dh’oine than make peace. Arrogant is what you are. You’re destroying any chances of saving the aen seidhe.” 

Iorveth swore he was close to grabbing her by the scruff of the neck, “Of course. You think you know best. A prideful human thinking they know everything about the scoia-tael. About aen seidhe. We’ve tried peace but look where it’s brought us. We’re like rats, hiding in caves and hoping that we live to see another day while your kind walk above on land without judgement.

“Even the aen seidhe that submit to you bastards are treated like garbage. They try to make peace and its thrown in their face. They suffer and you say we’re supposed to ignore it and pretend that it isn’t happening?” 

The dh’oine finally went quiet but not without a hiss-like inhale. She was crying but he didn’t feel guilt. He would never feel guilt. He thought he had shut her up, put her in her place. Waited for Irra to scold both of them, but he was surprised once more by the dh’oine. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry that your people are treated like that. But don’t ever think it’s black and white. The scoia-tael aren’t innocent commander.” 

Her voice had wavered when she said it. Any sense of anger in him was gone and his lips were parted as he felt her breathing leave his face, as she walked away from him and out of Irra’s quarters. He hadn’t realised how close they were, he hadn’t realised how her words sunk in like a dagger. 

And he hadn’t realised that Irra had witnessed the whole thing with an intrigued expression. 

But he knew that wouldn’t be the last of the dh’oines tears and his silent suprise.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more of a lighter tone, I really want to show that Ailidh and Iorveth, although really see things differently at times, can come to an agreement. XD  
> And of course SEXUAL TENSION!!!!!

A spy. Ailidh never thought she’d be forced into such a predicament, well she wasn’t truly forced, in fact she was the one who had suggested it to Irra in the first place for some stupid reason. Her impulsive mouth and ideas always got her into trouble. 

And then there was the argument between her and the aen seidhe warrior, none other than Iorveth. She had the nerve to argue with the bogeyman who haunted her dreams as a child. At the time, rage erupted in her like the flames in Irra’s hands, there was no stopping it. Once the flood gates opened, there was no closing them. There was only waiting for the water to stop flowing. 

She didn’t sleep a well night ever since, constantly thinking that he’d be in a shadowy corner with his dagger unsheathed, ready to slit her throat. There was surely a long list of elves who would want to slit her throat, but he would definitely be at the top. 

He hated her. 

Beautiful green eye distorted with malice whenever it glanced her way. The last few days when she wasn’t listening to Irra’s lectures or avoiding conflict with the scoia-tael, she was being watched closely by the commander himself. 

He didn’t trust her. 

She had known that it’d end the way it did. She had known that the scoia-tael would distrust her, hate her for the shape of her ears and the blood in her veins, but one thing she hadn’t expected was one of them to stand up for her. 

Owyn.

Sky blue eyes, honey-blonde hair. He was young, kind and different than the others. He was the only safe-haven she had since the rabbit stew incident. Although, if it hadn’t been her with steaming hot liquid seeping through her clothes, she would have found it quite hilarious. 

It was no accident however, and the act was meant to hurt her. It had come from hatred and sadistic pleasure. They laughed at her humiliation and pain, at her swollen crying eyes and stupid dh’oine face. They saw her as a rat that hadn’t been exterminated, and maybe she would be after Irra finally helped them with whatever the hell they were planning. 

But whenever the truth panicked her into a stunted tree root, she had Owyn. 

It took a while for them to begin small talk. With her being shy and human, and him being also shy and… scoia-tael, it had been difficult to figure the start of normal conversation. Yet it happened eventually. 

“There’s talk you’re going to be a spy. Ironic, a dh’oine spy for scoia-tael. I’m just glad I don’t have to do it,” Owyn laughed through a mouth full with bread. It quirked her lips into a smile. 

“Pft. Not a spy. A messenger maybe. I don’t know why Irra is letting me do this, I, I don’t even trust myself.” 

“What do you mean? You going to tell the black ones all our secrets?”

“No, no never. I, I just, I’m scared they will see through me. And I’m scared that if I fail … I’ll ruin everything.” 

Owyn didn’t respond immediately, instead he took to nodding his head. Soaking in her words and glancing out to all the young warriors that laughed and ate together, some held hands and some danced to a flute being played. A group of scouts had come back from a successful raid and plunder. It certainly didn’t make her want to dance.

“Just because they do not trust you, just because Iorveth doesn’t trust you doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust yourself. It should make you want to succeed even more, to prove him wrong,” Owyn suggested, chewing on his bread between taking sips out of a water skin. She followed suit, eating and drinking, worrying and panicking. 

“Maybe.” Ailidh didn’t have time to speak more to Owyn. She had locked eyes with him…Iorveth. 

A scowl was on his unnaturally pretty face. He didn’t show any sign of breaking eye contact, as if a red string had pulled their heads in the same direction and their eyes were destined to stay meeting forever. Trapped. Free. Both at once as the stare continued. 

What was he trying to say with that gaze? 

His head nudged to the side, almost as if he was gesturing to something. 

Was it meant for her? 

She felt the creases again, paired with a warmth in her face. What was she supposed to do? 

And then she understood. 

He was gesturing for a private conversation. Towards where rain water flooded a part of the cave system, apparently it had been like that since the scoia-tael found the place. 

“Thank you Owyn, we’ll talk later?” He smiled through his food and walked to a table with his friends gossiping about something, probably her. The filthy dh’oine. 

She scampered off like a little mouse, trying to navigate the maze that they called home. Water trickled down from the high ceiling and its decorative stalactites and landed on her head with a chill she couldn’t get used to. It was so very cold, and she found herself hugging into her abdomen. 

Iorveth was alone by the deep water that lay flat like a pane of glass. Bats fluttered their wings and squeaked in the nooks and crannies of the cave but besides that there was silence. They were far from the busy room filled with hungry scoia-tael. 

“You wanted to speak with me commander?” 

She hadn’t meant for her voice to sound so weak. Barely audible. There was always a heavy weight in her stomach when he was around. Perhaps it was the nightmares she had as a child when she dreamed he was nothing but a bloodthirsty creature that would butcher her into a pile of gore and flesh. 

“Don’t call me that dh’oine. You’re not mine to command.” 

There was bitterness woven in the words he practically seethed at her. She watched his back, he didn’t face her, perhaps thinking if he did, it’d make him sick. 

He was tall, not extremely tall but tall enough that he could intimidate even the bravest human warriors. No matter, all she knew was that he intimidated her and he took pleasure in that. “Sorry.” 

Another whisper came from her mouth. It was as if sound was trapped by her tongue, she couldn’t let the words out in a fully-formed melody. It was broken and nervous like her spirit. 

“Are humans ever truly sorry? Or do they say it to feel better?” he asked. 

“Do you ever say sorry to feel better?” she responded, hoping that maybe he’d just forget about her being there, so she could wander off without a trace. 

“Sorry is something I don’t feel nor say without good reason.” Iorveth finally turned on his heel and looked at her. More like looked through her. Down at her. Like she was an insect. Perhaps she was just that to the legend he was. Was he even flesh and bone?

She gulped, eyes blinking uncontrollably for a moment. She swayed a little, couldn’t concentrate under his harsh gaze. 

“I trust you have a plan for getting the information?” 

Trust… 

It took a moment for her to snap out of it, to respond to his question. She felt like she was a soldier under the scrutiny of their captain, perhaps she was in a sense. But he had just told her he did not command the likes of her. A dh’oine. She was growing to dislike that word. It was slowly but surely becoming her only name. She’d have nothing but what she was to identify with, not who she was. 

Who was she anyway?

“Yes, sir.” 

He squinted his eye at her. Was it the sir part she said? Or the lack of an answer she gave, or was it the waver in her voice that gave away her just as lack of confidence. 

Either way, she shuddered under his gaze but forced herself to keep it. 

“Strange. When you told me I was arrogant, I didn’t sense any fear from you, but without Irra watching, you’re a jittery little thing.” His pink lips capered into a smirk, a vindictive looking thing. Maybe it was the scar, or maybe it was because it was just that, vindictive. Not that it mattered. It pumped blood in and out of her heart quicker. 

“I was angry then. I’m not now, and you frighten me,” she whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear, but like always, he did, and almost perfectly judging by the glint in his eye and the smile growing wider, almost showing straight white teeth. No canines. 

He didn’t need sharp teeth to be terrifying. 

“I frighten you? Is it the scar? Is it my ears?” He took a small step in her direction, she took a step back. His eye was drawn to her feet, and he scoffed and took another step closer, and again she took a step back without meaning to. 

“You’re Iorveth. I’ve had nightmares about you all my life.” The green eye widened for a moment, perhaps surprised by honesty, but it gleamed in delight in another click of time.

“Nightmares? You’ve never met me before.”

“But I’ve heard stories of you.” 

Another step forward, another step back.

“What stories?” 

Sly grin, tone darker and intrigued. 

A gasp-like inhale sounded from her. “You kill innocent people. Take pleasure in it. You’ve killed human children without batting an eye. You smile when human blood stains your hands. You have a hunger for it. You would cherish slicing my throat open, just like biting into a ripened berry.” 

What made her speak with such poetic words for a killer? She didn’t know, but maybe it was because of the irony, his ballad-worthy appearance, too beautiful for a man like him.

“Do you really believe those stories dh’oine?”

Was he mocking her? Most definitely, but was he enjoying it? It was hard to decipher. 

There was no pleasure or satisfaction on his face anymore. Something she hadn’t expected as the distance between them withdrew. She couldn’t go much further, her back against cold, wet rock. “I don’t know. Should I?” 

All she had to do was reach her arm out and she would touch his chest. His chest…

His tunic’s neckline was low, fell down to below his sternum. Skin pale, but not sickly. Dark vines tattooed over soft skin and stern muscle. Was he made of stone, like the ancient aen seidhe statutes seen in just as ancient ruins. 

No. There was the blood-red flesh where an eye once was, its violent colour trailing down to his upper lip. 

“All you need to do is not fuck up. Then there shall be no reason for your fright.” 

He disappeared after that. 

Had she made him uncomfortable with her staring? He made her uncomfortable so it was only fair. Iorveth was a twisted dream, not enough so to be a nightmare, but he was haunting and akin to a dark shadow that followed her without being present. A looming presence, a creature from a fairy tale that she had challenged on more than one occasion now. 

“You don’t have to do this Ailidh. I can see the fear in your eyes, if you do not think you’re capable…” 

Prove them wrong. Prove Iorveth wrong.

“No, I’ll be okay, just nervous. I can do this,” Ailidh reassured, smoothing out her tunic. It was too small, she must have gained weight since last year – when Irra had made it – but it’d have to do. 

The two of them -well, three of them if a cynical looking Iorveth was to be counted – stood by the edge of the forest. Ailidh fiddled with the satchel secured on her waist in hopes of distracting herself. Irra’s illusion spell hummed a quiet song next to her. One step through it and she’d be outside, no protection, no procrastination. No running away.

“So, I’m a vagabond who’s come across some vital information no Nilfgaardian would pass up. I can do that.” 

“Of course you can. Dh’oine have always made for good liars.” Irra sent a glare in Iorveth’s direction, but strangely enough, his words comforted her. She’d be fine. Lying wasn’t that difficult. And if anything that came out of Iorveth’s mouth was to be true, it’d be that dh’oine are expert liars. And she was no exception. 

“Promise me child, promise me you won’t put yourself in any unnecessary danger. Do as I said and everything will work out perfectly.” Irra’s hands gripped Ailidh’s face, pulled her close. Ailidh could only nod, and swallow down a bile of doubt that nearly choked her. “Good. Go on. I have faith in you. I know you will not fail.” 

Most shocking to Ailidh, the person she looked to just before she walked outside of the protected forest wasn’t the woman whom nurtured her into health those many years ago, but instead the man whom haunted her for just as long in dreams. She couldn’t read a thought on his face, all blank. Eye expressing nothing. But it was enough to give her some form of courage. 

She’d prove him wrong. 

~

“So it is true. Scoia-tael still remain in these lands.” The colonel of the brigade was old, noble in appearance and everything a dark knight would look like in a fairy tale. Although old, he wasn’t without beauty. Dark hair and eyes, strong features. Yet, Ailidh couldn’t convince herself anyone was prettier than Iorveth. She’d give the aen seidhe commander that much. 

“Yes. I’m certain of it sire. You see I was wandering from village to village, selling and collecting, I’m the daughter of a merchant, and one eerie night, I swore I heard whispers in the trees. So I investigated further, and that’s when it happened!” His eyes widened, visibly fighting an unsure glance at how ridiculous she was. 

It wasn’t too hard to become someone else entirely. She preferred it that way, to separate herself from the lying and criminal things she was to do. To lie to a Nilfgaardian officer, that was worthy of execution no doubt. “I was kidnapped by squirrels! They took all my belongings, my coin! And by some sheer amount of luck, they let me go unscathed but of course empty handed.” 

“Whereabouts did this unfortunate event occur?” 

“Just north of here sire. On a small unused path only merchants travel by. They must have known so sire, took advantage of such a truth.” Ailidh couldn’t help but grimace at the sound of her own voice. Scratchy and loud, she practically squeaked it out to the poor colonel. Some of the brigade in other tents whispered about her, how uncivilised she was. In any other situation she would have been offended, but she wasn’t exactly putting her honest self out there. 

“Can you be entirely certain it were aen seidhe outlaws and not some opportunistic bandits? We’ve not seen or heard of a gang of squirrels for a time now. They are thought to have migrated into the blue mountains, distanced themselves from these lands,” Trevi – his name was, she read it on a letter on the busy desk in the corner of her eye – said. He was kind, eyes soft on her, and it ignited a sense of shame. He least deserved to be lied to. 

“I’d bet my mother on it sire. Pointed ears, war paint and lightning strike badges on their mismatched garments. Scoia-tael sire. They’re here.” 

He nodded in the direction of a well-dressed man, greying hair and spectacles; the man began writing down notes in a leather journal. “I must give you my thanks young lady. This information will serve us well.”

She knew he was suggesting it were time for her to go, a look in his eyes begging her to leave the camp and wander off to some village without memory of their discussion, but she needed something in return for the lie she gave. 

“Of course sire, I am deeply tied to your empire. Always respected you black ones, but I must ask for a favour. I was thinking of my future travels and well, Loc Muinne seemed a good choice.” 

Gotcha. 

A glimmer of hope was alighted inside her when his face became stern, his body still. The grey-haired man also froze in what looked to be concern. 

“I’d advise against that, Loc Muinne is not a place for anyone at this time.” 

“For anyone? Why’s that?” 

Come on, come on. Just say it, no funny business. 

Ailidh’s heart was a bundle of nerves as Trevi considered his next response. Her nails dug into her palm and if the wait lasted any longer, blood would have seeped from the wounds.

“I suppose it would not hurt to tell you. After all, you did give us a great deal of information,” he said, biting down on his lip. He looked to the grey-haired man, and some sort of telepathic communication filled the room, although Ailidh wasn’t apart of it, she could discern what it all meant. 

The grey-haired man scavenged through letters on the desk and finally found what he was looking for. Generic looking, it was some kind of letter of authorisation, a certificate of the sorts. “This here … this letter. We were not sure whether to use them. They are notices, for civilians, to warn them of rising dangers.” 

She wanted so badly to snatch it from his hand and to run straight back to Irra. So close, so close. 

His dark eyes lingered on her, a kindness wavering back and forth. He was kind, and she admired that most in someone. 

“Here. Keep it. It shall serve you well in your travels young lady.” 

The letter although feather light, and rather small, was a heavy weight, a responsibility, a shame and an accomplishment all at once. She hadn’t expected to gather information so easily, to win so quickly but as her eyes skimmed over the words, all sense of victory was incinerated. 

‘No division has been able to breach the city. Countless fatalities. Magic could be involved. It is believed a cult hailing from Zerrikania has overrun the city. No clear motives as of yet.’ 

~

“Well, would you look at that. The dh’oine did it!” 

Ailidh didn’t see who shouted, not that it mattered, it meant nothing anyway. She was a dh’oine and she also managed to help in some way. But there was still the matter of a dangerous cult not even a cunning empire could defeat.

“It seems you’ve found your much-needed information Iorveth, what now? Are you going to knock on their front door and ask if you can come in?” 

Irra was not pleased, neither was Iorveth if Ailidh was to judge by the doubt and disappointment in his eye. 

Ailidh didn’t speak a word when returned to the hideout, only giving them the letter and following them into Irra’s private quarters. A crowd of scoia-tael had regarded her and her silence. It was clear they’d thought she would betray them, come back with a Nilfgaardian brigade perhaps. It should have hurt her, but it didn’t. Irra was happy, and that was all that mattered. 

Iorveth threw the letter onto the ground, stared at it for a while and then wandered over to a shadowy corner. 

Defeated. Loss of hope. 

Ailidh didn’t like it one bit, didn’t like how the sight hurt to see. How she felt that fiery compassion, that sympathy she didn’t get from him. 

Irra didn’t say a word, only gazed in pity at the aen siedhe warrior. 

“I hoped this could be what we needed. A fresh start. I hoped the Nilfgaardians would ignore us, would let us have the city. I hoped it would be nothing that kept them from Loc Muinne, but maybe a pity for us squirrels. I hoped, and it was my mistake.”

He didn’t sound so threatening, so fierce and legendary. It was a revelation Ailidh had been wanting for a short time here in the caves, but it was enough to spark a sense of sadness and grief, a sense of hope and empathy.

Although there was only a small chance he would listen to a word she had to say, the urge to do something overpowered her. 

“Magic, Zerrikanian warriors, they can’t be that bad. The Nilfgaardians don’t even know why they’re in Loc Muinne, they seem afraid, but only because they don’t understand. Maybe instead of fighting them for the city, we could reason with them,” Ailidh whispered, not entirely sure if what she was saying made sense. 

There was a time before someone responded. 

“I appreciate the sentiment, but there is no way my people will form an allegiance with those back stabbing bastards ever again.” 

“What choice do you have? I bet you never thought you’d let a human be a spy for you, yet here we are. Times have changed. Maybe this time it’ll work, maybe this time you’ll succeed in freeing your people.

“You said hoping was your mistake but I don’t think it is. Maybe giving up so easily is your downfall.”

For a moment she worried that she had overstepped the line, once again, but instead of a sudden comeback, a mocking gaze and hatred filled venom, she was confronted with a smile. 

Vindictive looking yes, but it was genuine, almost felt kind, well-intended. 

“What are you suggesting? That I show myself in the black one’s camp. Shall I bring a cake with me? Beg for mercy and then their help? I don’t think so.” The sarcasm wasn’t truly meant to offend her, she was quickly finding that it was his humour. And she was finding that she quite enjoyed it. 

“Well. Well no. Not unless you want to be a hedgehog, covered head to toe in arrows. But maybe we could offer them something. The Aedirnian rebels are becoming more and more active as time goes on. We fight them, keep them in check, help the black ones, show them we’re prepared to fight by their side.” 

He listened intently, shocking her to the core. She had half-expected a wry remark about how she had no idea of war and fighting. True, but maybe he needed an outsider’s perspective, to angle his own to a grander view. 

“I must say Dh’oine, you’re more useful than you look. But I don’t know where the ‘we’ is coming from,” he said. Ailidh hadn’t noticed the amount of times she spoke the word ‘we’. It flowed naturally. Was she really becoming a scoia-tael? 

Ailidh looked to Irra for help, for guidance but only received a smile. A warm one. One that evoked pride. She was doing something right. 

A fiery spark of hope and belonging rose in her stomach, the creases in her face fading away. She turned to Iorveth, only now just recognising the dark circle under his eye, the hollowed cheeks and lack of faith in his features. 

She’d proved him wrong. Showed him she wasn’t going to betray Irra. She kept her word, no matter what. Yes, she could never find forgiveness for what happened to her family, to her old home, but it wasn’t Iorveth who stole it from her, it wasn’t Owyn or even Maeve. 

“After the shite I just pulled, I’m pretty sure I’m a criminal, I might as well accept it.” 

Iorveth smiled, a gleam in his eye showering her with warmth and pride.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm on a roll guys, I'm just spewing words out like crazy XD
> 
> Hope you like this chapter, I'd love for any feedback! Don't hesitate to tell me what you think in the comments! :D

The first few fights were brutal. 

It’d been far too long since he last strategized and fought guerrilla-style. Fortunately enough, there was no fatalities, however there were many injured. And more to their fortune was the presence of Irra and Nessa. 

Young men and women were sent in and out of their little hospital – most of its equipment either traditional aen seidhe method, or stolen from successful raids – back and forth, they’d go out in small groups of five and ambush Aedirnian encampments, then return with at most two injured, and the fallen rebel’s stock. Weapons, blacksmithing material, food, medicine. 

It wasn’t too bad. The guilt. The Aedirnian rebels were made up of mostly humans after all, yet they were fighting for their land just as he was. The Nilfgaardians were the current invaders, but they weren’t the first and they certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“You got cut up quite badly, commander.” Nessa’s fingers were always soft, pleasant as they worked on his skin. A much-deserved break between a sharp needle threading string into his wound. Irra was busy with other injured, and in all truth, he preferred the barbaric pain of non-magical practises. It kept him alive, kept him focused. 

As much as he hated seeing it on others, he loved the feeling of pain. It reminded him of the past. 

“Why the formalities? I thought we had passed that,” Iorveth whispered, rolling his neck to the side, relishing the crack of his bones. Nessa grinned that stunning smile of hers. 

Her lips were always stunning. Dark like her skin. Stone-carved, luscious and smooth. 

Too beautiful for him. He didn’t like the idea of destroying such beauty with his own ugliness. 

“You’re the worse patient I’ve had all day Iorveth. Perhaps you should pass up the next battle. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep stitching you up,” she laughed, tightening a bandage around his bicep. 

Some dh’oine bastard had good aim, shot an arrow through a weakness in his armour. 

New armour. That’s what he needed. 

“Shall you get angry if I don’t take advantage of such wisdom?”

He liked humouring her, seeing the way her eyes shrunk in amusement. So beautiful … he couldn’t help but lift his uninjured arm from hanging limp by his side, and reach his hand to her cheek. 

Nessa paused for but a moment, yet was quick to lean into his touch. His thumb brushed down her lips to her chin. Silken smooth, but not untouched by violence. His fingers traced the harsh scar running down her jaw to her collar bone. She smelt of something earthy. Perhaps she had recently gone looking for herbs with Irra? 

Their lips were close to touching, lingering a small distance, not one exhale of breath, not one intake. So close, but he withdrew, cowered away.

“You always close yourself off. Why can’t you let someone in for once?”

Iorveth hummed in agreement, eye too afraid to meet her gaze. She’d never remarked on how he always cowered away before, usually she would stay quiet and let him leave. He couldn’t bear it, he thought he could but he … he was too far gone. 

War and hate had turned him into a machine. Cliché, he knew she would say if he told her, but it was truth. 

“Everyone can see it. You’re hurting in some way, let someone help you for a change, I don’t care if it’s me or a bloede animal. What do you need? A puppy?” 

He rolled his eye, scoffed and pushed himself away from the table, gathered his tunic, chucked it over his head, hiding in its protection and warmth. He ignored the rumbling pain from his wounds, the one on his bicep, and bruises down his ribcage. 

“Battle won’t kill you. You’ll live as a lonely aen seidhe, isolated and in constant pain until your mind can’t take it anymore.” 

It was more a promise than a threat. He knew that fate to be his long ago, when Saskia left, when Vergen was taken from them, or maybe it was long before then?

His destiny had always been of heartache, he’d accepted that long ago. 

All so long ago.

A past ancient and hard to envision as a memory, but more an artefact to judge and analyse. “I already know that Nessa. If I am to die alone and sad, so be it.” 

He caught in the corner of his eye a loss of compassion in her features. Her brows dropped to her eyelids, angry and shocked. Made her scar stand out, made her look harsher than she was. “I can’t believe you sometimes. How are we supposed to find freedom with a leader with such hate toward themselves?” 

“I don’t hate myself,” Iorveth responded, pretending not to notice the tension in the room, the disheartened look on her sweet face, on her kind heart. “Perhaps I am just a pessimistic soul? It helps when disappointment and betrayal are a common occurrence.” 

“That’s rubbish and you know it,” Nessa spat. Iorveth knew he had to get out of the room fast. He didn’t want this confrontation to linger on any longer. He wanted to be alone, to smoke and cough like the stupid elf he was. To look up at the stars and dream. Distance himself from reality.

“Rest, you’ve helped many today.” 

She moved out of his way without resistance, but scarred him with a tone unlike her usual warmth, “As you wish commander…”

~

The youthful aen seidhe celebrated with passion. Eating the food they fought for, lounging on the expensive blankets and cushions they killed for, and sung with their voices that they had no ownership of. 

That’s what hurt him most. 

They would never be free. 

Their voices echoed in a cave, drowned out by the cries of death and war. A dying race, and he could do nothing to stop it, to nurture them back to their early days, to health and prosperity. An artefact a stupid human would someday forget to think about. Thrown away into a pile of skeletons and fabric, to be burnt and discarded. 

The ale he sipped on had no taste, only a bitterness. The food he ate empty of satisfaction. The flute and drums flexing to his ears had no melody. Numb. 

He watched the youth dance and laugh, eat and kiss. No fatalities yet, but there was only a time before they’d bring a young man or woman back home with their eyes closed forever. And for what? 

The suggestion of a dh’oine?

That dh’oine…

There was no sight of her, she wasn’t with Owyn or Irra – both parties feasting with their friends and family – the dh’oine was hiding away somewhere most likely. 

No sight of her stocky form. No sight of her brown eyes so large and childish. No sight of the creases that had life of their own, the lines in her forehead twisting and churning whenever she was stressed. 

She wasn’t as painful as she was when she first arrived. When he first saw her. He would give her that. She was useful in her ways, with her privilege and human attributes. She got them the information they needed, no violence or battle needed. She was human, thought like one, something that’d come to greater use in time. 

“Iorveth.” It was Irra, a worry in her eyes as she made her way through the joyous crowd. “Have you seen Ailidh? I cannot find her… Owyn has looked everywhere for me, she must be outside…” 

Fear, something he’d never seen on the aen seidhe woman before, not as intensely. 

“Relax Irra. I shall find her; she’s probably fallen on a tree root while looking at the night sky like some fairy-tale creature.” 

Irra was not pleased with his joke, neither was he. In spite of his disgust of the dh’oine, she shouldn’t have wandered outside without telling anyone. Anything could happen to her up there. 

“Be quick please, so I can scold her before I fall asleep.” 

He laughed. That was a sight he’d grown to enjoy, a cranky Irra lecturing the foolish dh’oine. 

Taking a walk in the chilly night air was a price worth to pay for that entertainment. 

~

The training grounds were the last place Iorveth thought to check. And of course, that’s where the dh’oine girl was. Swinging a wooden sword at the lifeless dummy. 

He thought it to be a trick of his mind at first, as he walked through the trees quietly, hoping not to interrupt her. 

The girl although untrained, chaotic in her strikes – akin to Owyn – had talent. Something raw and buried deep. An anger, but graceful. Not as elegant as aen seidhe, but something, almost like a vattʼghern but without the mutations and reflexes. Like dance, the sword twirled in her hand beautifully, her theatrics were entertaining. Huffing, growling, pirouetting, spinning on her feet swiftly, spiking up dirt. 

He had to smile, although she had talent, she didn’t land a single blow on the lifeless thing. Not that it looked like that were her goal. 

Moonlight shimmered through the upper canopies and brought an angelic light to her performance. Her hair had fallen from its bun, not long but not short, shoulder length. Sweat glistened on her face, cheeks blushed red. 

He could have watched forever, but all came to an end when she tumbled, and knocked the wooden sword into her head in a failed attempt at striking down the air. 

“Fuck!” 

Iorveth couldn’t keep his presence unknown, his laughter getting the better of him. He hadn’t heard himself laugh like he did in many years, but it didn’t stop him. 

The dh’oine turned to him in absolute horror as he unveiled himself from the trees. “Maybe a helmet would better suit your fighting style.” 

The dh’oine lost most of the surprise and horror at being caught at such an embarrassing time, and instead showed a wide grin on her beet red face. 

“What’re you doing out here?”

“I could ask the same question. Irra has been looking everywhere for you,” Iorveth explained, closing the distance between them and stealing away the sword from her. He twirled it in his hand with much more precision than she had, and her face dropped. 

“She’s angry?”

“Extremely.” 

“Damn it, I should have told her, I, I just knew she wouldn’t let me come out here though. She doesn’t trust me to …” The dh’oine silenced herself, as if another word she said would kill her. Iorveth faced her. He tried to understand something about her, why the creases in her face suddenly became worse. 

“Doesn’t trust you to what?” 

The dh’oine sighed, shook her head and began to walk to the path leading to the cave. Iorveth followed closely behind. 

“I asked you a question dh’oine.” 

She stopped in her strides, forcing him to a skid. 

“You haven’t noticed?” Her brown eyes questioned him, but Iorveth couldn’t understand what she was referencing. He looked her up and down, thinking that maybe there was a visible clue to what she meant. 

“No, dh’oine. I haven’t noticed, I’ve been busy with more pressing matters.” 

“Well. Well why does it bother you so much that I won't tell you? You don’t even like me, why do you need to know. Why’re you even out here in the first place?” 

She continued on her walk. And he continued to follow, until he finally caught up, so that they were side by side. She was much shorter than him, shorter than most aen seidhe women. The top of her head only just reached his eye.

“Is there something you’re not telling me? Something Irra hasn’t told me? Are you cursed? Diseased?” 

The dh’oine scoffed. 

There wasn’t much fear in her lately, maybe it was the adrenaline from all that swinging, or perhaps she had hit her head much harder than he thought? 

“Shall I force it out of you?” He lost his patience, grabbed her by the arm – not roughly – but stern enough to stop her in her tracks. She fell back, stumbled into him, hit his right bicep where the bandage was, where his wound was. 

He hissed. 

Her eyes widened in panic. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”

“-it’s fine. Just answer my question. What doesn’t Irra trust you to do?” 

The dh’oine’s lips thinned, creases appeared. Stressed, upset. He wasn’t expecting it, but he didn’t like it, how her mood had gone so downhill. 

Did he miss her smile? Only once had he seen her most genuine smile, only just recently and yet he couldn’t get it out of his head. 

“It, it’s not so much that she doesn’t trust me. It’s, she thinks I’m incapable of being independent.” 

Iorveth frowned. 

“I don’t think so dh’oine. She let you walk into a Nilfgaardian encampment-”

“-no, I don’t mean it like that. Irra … she treats me like a child. Yes, she let me go into the camp, but you witnessed the way she coddled me. I love her, but,” the dh’oine didn’t finish her whisper, eyes welling up with tears. 

It was enough to make him realise. 

Deep down, it was amusing, but he didn’t feel cruel enough to show that. 

“You fear she coddles you too much?”

“Yes, exactly that. She treats me like a useless child.” 

The dh’oine wiped at her face, tears spilling for a reason Iorveth couldn’t comprehend? 

“I’m sorry to break it to you dh’oine, but in the eyes of most aen seidhe, that is what you are.” 

Iorveth was half-expecting her to begin an argument, scoff and go red, flare her nostrils and grab him by the wound on his arm, but instead her brows furrowed, eyes weakened in their gaze, more tears fell. 

She sniffled. 

What the hell was he supposed to do now? 

“Am I really that useless? Even Owyn looks at me with pity, it isn’t enough he has to protect me from rabbit stew?” 

He wanted so bad to laugh. Not out of cruelty, but surprise. She took this to heart more than she should have. “I know what you are thinking. I’m being foolish, maybe I am, but I’m sick of it. Sick of the hate and disgust I see in your eye when you look at me, when anyone looks at me. Sick of Irra telling me what to do, how to act, how to feel.” 

Guilt. 

A painful sensation, the drop of his heart, a sickness in his belly, hard to breathe. He looked away from her, as if the sight of a hurt young girl would scar the rest of his face. 

She was hurt. Deeply. 

Maybe hate had blinded him too much, blinded them all too much. 

Yet he didn’t say a word. He didn’t apologize. Only listened to her distorted whimper and feet scampering further down the path. 

He didn’t follow her but instead took to looking up at the stars while he dreamt of a pleasant future.

~

“What is it you wish to speak about Iorveth?” 

He hesitated before walking inside Irra’s quarters, questioning what he was about to do. 

Foolish, soft? Perhaps, but he felt he needed to say something. Maybe that night had impacted him more than he wanted to believe. 

“It’s about the-” Iorveth stopped, held it in his mouth, Irra’s brow raised, waiting for him to continue, “It’s about Ailidh.” 

Irra sat down in a heap and gulped, eyes serious. Ailidh meant much to her, a fact he was only beginning to completely understand. The woman wouldn’t let the wild hunt itself take so much as one step near the dh’oine, even if it meant her own death. 

“What about her?” 

It was his turn to gulp. What was the best way to put it? 

“The night you sent me to find her. She was upset.”

“Upset?” 

“Yes.”

“Crying?”

“Shall I write a novel on what upset means?” Iorveth couldn’t help but quip at her. Irra huffed, nodding for him to continue. “She feels that you’ve been … coddling her too much.” 

“And what is that supposed to mean?” 

Iorveth felt his patience running thin. This really wasn’t a smart idea.

“As in you treat her like a child, which she obviously isn’t.” 

“Are you truly lecturing me on how to parent? You, of all people Iorveth?” 

She was angered. Amused. An imbalance of amusement and anger. 

Iorveth knew what he was up against, but couldn’t make himself understand. Irra really saw Ailidh as her child. 

“No, Irra, I am only telling you what the dh’oine told me. It’s quite clear it upsets her, she feels useless, I am only suggesting that you treat her like her age.”

And just like that, all anger dispersed. There was none left written on the woman’s face. Her cold eyes were empty of fire, of wrath. It scared him. 

Iorveth, he would never admit to anyone, but he was genuinely frightened when a smile began to grow on the woman’s face. 

“What’re you smiling at?” 

Irra stood from her chair and gazed closer at him, he felt vulnerable beneath it, like she was undressing his flesh and bone to get a look inside his soul if there was such thing as one. 

Silence as she considered him.

“And what do you suggest I do? To prevent her from feeling useless?” 

It didn’t take long for Iorveth to respond. The memory of Ailidh fighting the dummy came to mind quickly. He smiled.

“I believe the dh’oine has what it takes to be a capable warrior. With enough training, she could help fight the Aedirnians-”

Iorveth had learnt at a young age that Irra was no force to reckoned with. 

But he had not been expecting the portal beneath his feet and the rush of air. 

“Bloede sorceresses,” Iorveth groaned, struggling to crawl out of the bush he fell into after falling from the stomach-churning portal. 

No matter how many portals Irra evoked under him, he would never give up trying to convince her to let him train Ailidh. 

The dh’oine had potential.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!!!  
> Here's the next chapter! Hope you all enjoy and like where the narrative is headed! :D

“You’re showing off dh’oine.” 

Ailidh stopped her pirouette, fumbled around off balance, out of breath before turning to face her new instructor. Her teacher that had been quickly losing patience with her. 

“I’m not. This is just how I do it.”

Iorveth frowned. It was funny seeing his face move and express emotion now that the right side of it was covered with her red fabric. She’d given it to him as a gift, for deciding to teach her how to fight. It was the only thing she had, and she knew he would never lose it. He needed it as much as she cherished it. To protect the hollowed chasm in his face from infection, and further damage while fighting. 

“So swinging a sword around like it’s the cock of some arrogant nobleman is how you fight?” 

Ailidh laughed, “That was oddly specific, how would you even know what that looks like?” Iorveth smirked, unsheathing his elven sword from his waist. It glinted under the sun, its glyphs glowing an array of colours every time he practised a fatal strike to the air. 

“I’ve come across many strange people in my lifetime. I suppose I attract strange folk.” 

“Funny. I was thinking your negativity would steer people away from you, not attract them,” Ailidh teased. 

It had been nearly a week since he accepted her offer. Every afternoon - when all the other scoia-tael were in the cave resting, eating or chatting – they’d ascend to the surface of life and nature. Since then, the tension had mellowed down a great deal. She no longer felt she was stepping on eggshells whenever in his presence. The others seemed to mind her less, as if she was just another soldier, a freedom fighter. It felt good, though often at night she’d lay awake till what seemed dawn, with tears drowning her skin and hair. 

If she slept, she’d dream of her parents, dream of what little she could remember. An older brother. A childhood friend. Playing dolls with her friend who no longer had a face or name in her memory. What would have they been like now? Would they have been proud of her? 

“You’re upset dh’oine.”

Ailidh shook off her daydreaming, the trance and exchanged it with the view of an agile warrior whose muscles strained under his tunic. His every strike, his every step with meaning and purpose. So flawless and beautiful as he trained. 

“No, I’m not.” He ignored her, barely breaking a sweat when he finally put the sword down and leaned against a tree. Barely breathing. Barely any sign of life from him. But then his eye reached her, red string moulding their gaze to one another, forcing them to look their should-be enemy in the face. She wished then he expressed no life or feeling. 

Ever since their agreement, the tension dispersing, he’d been kinder to her, more open. It scared her more than the glares of extreme hate. The intimacy scared her for some reason. She wanted to run every time their eyes met. No one else would notice. No one would notice the way her skin heated up and how she looked away. Did he even notice? 

“There’s no use in lying. The creases in your face give it away,” Iorveth responded, eye flickering to the sun up above the green canopies and twittering birds. The evening always made Ailidh feel melancholic. A loss of sound, a loss of connection. Soon it’d be dark and all would be silent. 

“I thought I was the only one who noticed the creases,” Ailidh whispered, touching her fingers to her forehead. Iorveth scoffed.

“I don’t think so dh’oine. But that’s beside the point, why’re you upset?” 

It was strange too. When he asked what was wrong, it didn’t immediately feel like it was Irra worrying over her. No, when he said it, she felt strong, reliable to herself. He talked to her the way one adult talked to another. 

If it was Irra, she would have felt frustrated, would have brushed it off, would have swatted her away. 

But with Iorveth, it was different. He didn’t ask from a motherly instinct, but with intrigue. He wasn’t the type to ask a question he didn’t want an answer to. 

Ailidh sighed, dropping her practise sword to the dirt below her. “My family…” 

Iorveth stiffened, crossed his arms over his chest. “What has Irra done wrong now?” 

Ailidh laughed a hollow sound, shook her head. She was trapped. She should have done what she normally did, pretend it was nothing. She always did when it came to her family, even with Irra at times. “No. Not Irra.” 

Iorveth’s lips parted, realisation hitting him too fast maybe. His jaw clenched and he broke their shared gaze, and pointed his own to the ground. 

“I dream of my family at night. I can’t sleep because of it,” Ailidh revealed. She was hesitant at first, but she knew there was no use in holding back. If Iorveth wanted something from her, he wouldn’t appreciate whatever it was, half-assed. 

“Why is that such a terrible thing?” 

His voice was meeker than usual. Quieter and less fierce. It shocked her; nothing could ever push that fiery spirit in him down. Well, no, not nothing. Hopelessness did that to him. Failure and defeat destroyed him. Something she had learnt during her stay. Everyone had a weakness it seemed, even the great legend that was Iorveth. 

“Maybe it’s not. I, I just can’t help but feel I’ve forgotten them, abandoned them.” 

Everyone had a weakness… even herself. 

Iorveth nodded. Did he truly understand? Ailidh couldn’t tell, but he pretended to anyway. “What happened to them?” 

Ailidh did know however that Iorveth could be blunt, straight-forward. She wasn’t surprised by his need for an honest answer. He wanted her truth; he wanted every truth. 

But he wouldn’t like her one. She knew he’d take it as confrontation, but he wouldn’t take anything less either. 

“Scoia-tael. That’s what happened. They plundered my village – and before you get angry with me, no, I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.” Iorveth’s eye visibly widened, his nostrils flared in defence but she was quick enough to stop him. She silenced the vengeful beast in him for a moment, long enough for him to take in her words. “They let me go, but not my parents … not my brother. I can’t remember much of them, I was so young when it happened, but I sometimes see glimpses, memories of my family…” 

He left the support of the tree, and made his way over to her, just by her side. His warmth invaded her space, pleasantly, protecting her from the cold. He stared into the direction she did, into a small pathway that led to some dark clearing in the forest. Unknown and mysterious. 

“I understand now,” Iorveth said, looking down at her, a small smile on his lips. “Irra never told me anything about you. I never asked… but maybe I should have.” 

“That’s okay. I never asked anything about you or anyone else either-”

“-yet you never once made me or anyone else feel less than worthy of respect. How do you do it? How do you have so much forgiveness? You’re like Owyn. Like many of young aen seidhe. Without hate.” 

“I don’t know. How do you have so much hate? Doesn’t it do more hurt than good?” 

He grimaced. He was uncomfortable. He wanted to leave, she could see it in the way his knuckles grew white and his nostrils continued to flare. He wanted to escape the conversation, and for a time she thought he would. 

But he didn’t. 

“It does hurt. It is a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone. The sentiment is as great as love. The two aren’t much different. Think of it like that.”

Ailidh tried to imagine it. An intense feeling for a people. She couldn’t however, love and hate a mysterious concept to her. 

She couldn’t think of loving anyone as intensely as she loved Irra, and that kind of love was only the tip of the iceberg. So many kinds of love. How many kinds of hate were there then? Was hate and love really so akin to one another? 

“I don’t understand…” Ailidh ambled away from Iorveth, distanced herself from him but maintained strong eye contact. “I can’t imagine feeling like that for so many people.” 

He smiled. Vindictive looking yes, she had grown used to that, but she sensed it was pleasant. “Of course. You’ve only ever loved Irra. The only love you know is the one between mother and daughter. It would be hard for you to imagine anything else.” 

Ailidh sighed, fidgeting with her tunic. “How many times have you been in love?” 

She would never admit why she asked him that. Surface-deep, she was only asking to understand the concept of hate, but deep down, she wanted to understand him more. Understand what evoked the other side of the coin from him. What made Iorveth, the legendary dh’oine killer, love someone? 

He shrugged, “Many times. Platonic, familial, romantic, sexual … I’ve loved. Hate just seems to overwhelm it too often.” Ailidh huffed in response, Iorveth questioned her with his eye. “What? Is that so hard to believe?” 

“Somewhat. You just seem so… so apathetic. Even to your own people.” 

“I’m not here to play the flute and sing about rainbows and butterflies, I’m here to keep them safe and strong.” 

“Fair enough. Though I’m sure you play the flute well,” Ailidh joked, picking up her sword, ready to return to the cave system, where Irra would probably grill her on where she’s been. Surely Irra knew what was happening? That Iorveth was training her? Why hadn’t Irra objected yet? 

“Better than how you fight, that’s for certain.” 

~ 

It turned out Irra was in fact privy to Iorveth training her in the afternoons. It came as a shock to Ailidh when the aen Seidhe woman first mentioned her knowing. “You should be grateful for Iorveth, he’s the one who convinced me to agree to this.”  
It distorted Ailidh’s perception of the commander, and she couldn’t understand if it was positive or negative. Maybe both. She respected him more, noticed unique traits within him. He was kind … not in the way she was used to, but he did have some form of compassion, twisted yes, but compassion, especially for those he admired. Irra, Owyn, Feindhelm, Egan and Nessa. Nessa … 

Nessa was always sweet to Ailidh. But, there was something bitter within Ailidh, whenever she witnessed the lingering gazes between Iorveth and the sweet aen seidhe lady. Nessa was beautiful, kind and intelligent, everything Iorveth deserved, everything Iorveth would and should want. Ailidh couldn’t help but grin wide when she saw a small but forever changing moment between the two elves. An awkward empathy for one another, they didn’t need to say a word to communicate with each other. Was that what love was? To an outsider? 

‘The only love you know is the one between mother and daughter…’

The scoia-tael celebrated the first day of spring in a fashion Ailidh had only read in fairy tales and stories told by elders to the young children in a remote village. Music, colourful attire and foods, paint and scented candles. Irra even used her magic to create illusions with the water dripping down from the cave’s stalactites, she turned them into glittering shapes, the shape of animals and flowers and dreams. 

They danced, sung and laughed. Even though the war wasn’t won, so many battles were victorious, and that was enough to celebrate, it meant much more than the ending. Than finally reaching Loc Muinne and starting anew. 

“Come dance with me! You look miserable Ailidh!” 

Owyn grasped her hand in his and pulled her to the crowd of young elves. Her stomach hurt with laugher as he twirled her around, causing them both to stumble into Egan and Feindhelm. 

“Aye, look at the clumsy duo. Who taught you how to dance?” Egan teased, followed with a scoff from Feindhelm. 

They both seemed to have grown soft for Ailidh in time, maybe it was because she had got them out of trouble, took the blame when they stole Iorveth’s most favourite dagger and lost it. 

“At least we’re not thieves, useless ones at that,” Owyn bit back. They didn’t seem impressed, and it gathered bubbles of laughter from Ailidh’s stomach. 

It stopped however, when she found him in the outskirts, watching on. 

He smiled, truly smiled. It was beautiful. She had never seen him smile so sincerely before.

His teeth were bright, and the dimple in the left side of his face bought her complete adoration. She knew it was cliché, but time slowed, the bickering between the three elves beside her faded away and she was left with nothing but admiration for something that once kept her from sleep. He didn’t see her. He’d never see her, at least not in the way she was quickly seeing him. 

He was with another aen seidhe, his second in command and a talented warrior. Ailidh believed it to be Jaime, yes Jaime. The girl with strong arms and cheerful eyes. 

They chatted into one another’s ear, as if in secrecy. Smile looser, eye slower in its blinks, pink lips parted. 

Ailidh scanned the cave, and finally noticed some of the elves in corners. Hiding in the shadows, giggling with a partner or two. Forbidden, she to let of the vision, of the intimacy. 

Irra had warned Ailidh of celebrations, that people often drank more than they should have, that they became impulsive, did things they wouldn’t usually do in the open. Irra was no where in sight, back in her private quarters most likely. 

Ailidh felt the need to go to her.

She didn’t mind the idea of sharing your body with someone else, not at all, she just wasn’t adjusted to it. Especially not to the sight of Iorveth and Jaime. 

Their mouths together, in a dance, forever trying to grasp the upper hand. 

It was all Ailidh could see.

What about Nessa? 

Ailidh couldn’t understand, she peered all around her and never witnessed a questioning gaze sent to the commander. Nessa herself was nowhere in sight. Owyn, Egan and Feindhelm continued to dance and drink and laugh. She couldn’t understand. 

Iorveth and Nessa. Nessa … Ailidh’s heart burnt under fiery betrayal, second-hand, but indeed betrayal. She couldn’t have imagined the connection between him and Nessa, they had something, she was kind and always there for him.

Nails dug into her palms, chest heaving, Ailidh stood frozen, watching on as Iorveth caressed Jaime in ways two lovers would touch one another, he grabbed her hand and guided her away, but not without catching her…

Not without their eyes meeting in the process. Not without Ailidh’s heart bursting, not without his brow furrowing, lips pursing. Not without creases in her forehead, not without heat rushing in her veins, not without tears welling. 

He looked away quickly. The two elves scampered off in a rush.

She was left to stand in a crowd, wondering if she understood anything at all. 

“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a murder.” 

It was Owyn. His hand grasped her shoulder, pulled her out of the small bubble of confusion she had created around herself.

“No, I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m just tired is all.” He was quick to nod, quick to agree and let go. “I might go to bed now, otherwise I’ll pass out.” 

Again, sleep didn’t come easy. With the dreams of her family, and the memory of Iorveth and Nessa. The betrayal she couldn’t comprehend. Why did it hurt her? She had nothing to do with him or whom he slept with, whom he loved and whom he didn’t. But it hurt nonetheless. 

Was it jealousy? Was it shame? 

~

“Dh’oine. I told you to wait for me. How many times must I tell you? Training alone will only worsen your mistakes.”

She wasn’t shocked to hear Iorveth’s voice, but she wasn’t joyful either. 

It heightened her anxiety. 

It had been a few days since that night. The night she saw him and Jaime. 

They’d decided to pause her training for a bit, a short break. They’d also decided that today and the next day would be her last of the training, that she’d go with him and fight real enemies, fight the aedirnian soldiers. 

Her anxiety was off the charts and they hadn’t spoken since. Did he remember her watching him? Or did he just not care? She hoped for the latter.

“Sorry. I’m just nervous… scared.” 

He went silent, and for a moment she thought that he had walked off in apathy, in disappointment. But he was behind her, standing and watching with a look she hadn’t seen on him before. 

Ailidh looked down, afraid to hold this new gaze he had created in his eye. Firm, mysterious, on the line between empathy and pity, maybe even disgust. 

“Of course you are dh’oine. You’ve never fought before, never taken a life. I shan’t sugar coat it. Death could be your fate,” Iorveth said, staring at her with that look again, his lips thinned together, twitching as if to object all that he just said aloud, “but you shouldn’t worry about things that can’t be controlled.”

“Then why did you say that? It’s not helping.”

He scoffed. “It wasn’t supposed to help. I was being honest, you need to hear the truth,” he responded. 

Ailidh sighed, “death doesn’t really scare me. Not as much as the fear for losing the ones I love-”

“-you love many?” Iorveth questioned, eye wide and greener than ever. Ailidh was taken back a bit, his words spilled out so fast she almost missed it. 

“I don’t know. I could ask the same of you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, dh’oine?”

“I saw you with Jaime,” Ailidh accused. Iorveth shook his head, long dark curls draping over his shoulder because of it.

“And? What’re you trying to say?”

“How could you do that to Nessa? I’ve seen the way she looks at you, the way you look at her. There’s something there, and it’s like you’re incapable of accepting it. Then you start sleeping around-”

“-is that what you were upset about?” he laughed. He wasn’t happy, neither was the laugh, it was more a sneer. His eye squinted in disapproval. “My private life has nothing to do with you, dh’oine.” 

“I wouldn’t call openly making out with someone private-”

Ailidh let out a yelp, but managed the reflexes to deflect his strike. 

She tumbled back, sword nearly fallen from her hand as Iorveth twirled his own, threatening her with a wicked scoff and huff. He eyed her up and down, circling her, she automatically went into a defensive stance.

“Enough complaining. Show me you can fight a live target.”

Iorveth was right. As always.

Ailidh nodded in understanding, closed her eyes for a glimpse of time to control her breathing, her tremoring hands and knees. She finally reached a balance of fear and arrogance, like Owyn had told her to. 

Iorveth was behind her and before she could think, she ducked just in time and pivoted further from him, spiking up dirt and gravel. He advanced on her without warning, lunging powerful yet delicate attacks that she shed and faded from without much excess time and even less confidence. She was finding it hard to gather back the arrogance she had started with.

Their blades clashed and shrieked every so often, Ailidh tried her damn hardest to avoid such collision altogether, dodging and pivoting away, but it only wasted more of her energy, she grew tired quickly. His mobility and strength was incredible, inhuman and ruthless. He had no mercy as he continued to strike and lunge. His growls evoked grunts from her. 

“I must ask dh’oine,” Iorveth said, backing off and twirling his sword beautifully. “What makes you think there’s something between Nessa and I?” 

Ailidh burned under his gaze, breathless and utterly broken and leaking energy. She was empty of fight but continued her stance, continued to hold guard. “The way your eyes see each other… I, I. It’s like you have this spiritual vision, can see deep into one another. I don’t know-”

She fell, not expecting Iorveth to lunge at her. He snickered, shook his head in disapproval. “You need to start paying attention. Not daydream about unimportant things. You wish to be respected; you must earn it dh’oine.” 

Ailidh huffed a war cry and ran at him, striking down with all her might, he was able to dodge however, and swing back at her. She got to her knees at the last minute as his blade flew where her head was. She took the unexpected opportunity, and kicked his feet out from beneath him, he fell and she rose. She aimed the tip of her blade to just under his chin.

“Why is it such a bad thing? That I noticed that Nessa is kind and smart. She cares for you, and you care for her,” Ailidh said, smiling. He had that look again, his lips tight and no longer plush and pink like usual. 

“You’re kind and smart too… for a dh’oine.” Ailidh froze, unsure of what he meant, and in that time of confusion and deep thought, he managed to lunge at her again, pushing them both into a tree. 

He had her pinned to the trunk, their chests almost pressed together, they would have been if their blades hadn’t connected, shielding them both from the unwanted. She craned her neck up at him. Green eye like grass fields grown from the blood of aen seidhe. Vibrant and saturated with colour. 

“All I’m saying, is, is … I don’t know,” she whispered, unsure of her own voice.

He smiled, and pulled away. Ailidh lost his warmth, his scent and colour. He was gone and she felt empty as he walked away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> This is a shorter chapter, but I feel it suits it that way. This has some violence and swearing that could be offensive, I don't think it's too bad but it depends on the reader, so just be warned, if you're not a fan of stuff like that, read cautiously.

“Iorveth.” 

Fortunately, enough, he had just finished tightening and adjusting his armour. New armour, courtesy to the Aedirnian rebels they killed the other week. He had dyed it green and red, instead of their yellow and gold. 

“Irra?” 

The woman’s eyes weren’t as strict as usual, he could almost say she looked terrified. It didn’t take long for Iorveth to understand why. “I suspect you already know why I wish to speak with you…in private.”

Iorveth nodded. “The girl is quite capable of protecting herself Irra-”

“-I do not care how capable she is. She is mortal and she is flawed. One mistake and she could be cut down, slaughtered. That is not a death she deserves.” 

“No one deserves such a death, but death has no morals, no conscience. Neither does war,” Iorveth deflected. He offered Irra a seat on a wooden chair. Irra didn’t accept his offer. She stood defensively, her eyes equally stern and frightened. 

“I understand that you and I have differing views Iorveth, but that ‘girl’ is the closest thing I have to a daughter.” Her voice wavered in its power, Iorveth gulped because of it. He had never seen her in such a state. 

Memories of Irra returned to him, the memories of her trying for child, the memories of tragedy and loss, of miscarriage after miscarriage. He was young, too focused on other things, like war and fighting and planning. But he remembered Irra’s desire to be a mother.

“Promise me Iorveth, promise me you will not let any harm come to her.”

“You must know that’s an impossible task Irra. She’s not the only youth I need to protect, she’s not the only child of a mother. I can’t protect her from the world, you can’t protect her from everything-”

He should have expected it, but in truth it hurt him more than he could admit. Irra’s handprint lingered on the left side of his face, sour on his skin and burning. 

“Promise me… Or she will not go and fight.” 

Harsh words threatened to leave his tongue. Words about dh’oine and hate and apathy, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t say the words, not for his or Irra’s sake, but for her… 

She wanted to fight, had trained hard. 

So, he did what he never thought he would. 

“I promise,” Irra’s eyes softened, glistening with tears still. “I promise I will not let death consume her, but I cannot promise she won’t be injured.” It would have to do. He couldn’t promise clean skin, skin left alone by arrows and blades that would cut red into the dh’oine. She would be scarred. 

Maybe Irra should have been stricter, and not have allowed the dh’oine this responsibility. The choice to fight. 

Iorveth was never given a choice. Irra wasn’t. Most aen siedhe, gnomes and halflings were never given a choice, not even most humans. Ailidh deserved that luxury, so did Owyn and Maeve, Egan and Feindhelm. They were in some way given the option, but they all chose the wrong answer.

~

Six of them. Four young aen seidhe, always ready for battle, and one dh’oine who had never fought to keep their head on their shoulders their entire life, even in the short length of it. Iorveth knew all too soon that it was one of the worst decisions he'd ever made. 

“You see their battlements? Shite and useless to mine and Maeve’s arrows. We distract them from the tree tops, and the rest of you sneak in through their backdoor,” Feindhelm explained without looking to Iorveth for guidance. A sign of progress. The young elf was stone-cold, even to Iorveth himself, known for his cunning and sadistic nature. Always made for an excellent leader. 

“Nessa helped me in concocting a poison to apply to our arrow heads. Some kind of plant that makes dh’oine go loopy. Hallucinations, they’ll end up killing their own,” Maeve said, the words smoothing from her tongue pleasantly. He smirked. The thought of the aedirnian rebels succumbing to fear and insanity humoured them all. All besides Owyn and the dh’oine. 

The dh’oine…

She was crouched in the long weeds, distant from all, even Owyn. Her brown eyes skittish like a baby deer. Afraid, so dearly afraid and expecting the worst to happen. It was unnatural, Iorveth was so adjusted to a hope greater than any he had ever seen in his long life. So much hope inside the dh’oine. Foolish hope, but hope. The tables had turned out in the wild, with beasts and men. An emptied glass, waiting to be filled again. 

‘Promise me Iorveth…’

He focused back on the dh’oine encampment set up in a heath, rare in Aedirn. Human settlements were only growing in number, but this place was quiet with the exception of lost, wandering soldiers without king to serve. Without country to serve.

“Quick then. We haven’t got the entire day to fuck around,” Iorveth said, clucking his tongue and nudging his head towards the cluster of trees behind them. Maeve and Feindhelm followed his orders, scattered off and climbed the trees like true aen seidhe. “Owyn, Egan. You two advance from flank-side, stealthily. Don’t do anything stupid, wait for Maeve and Feindhelm to shoot.” They followed as well, sneaking off and around the wooden barricade, to the weak side of it where no human seemed to guard. 

It left him and the dh’oine alone. She crept nearer to him, instinctively, as if to hide away by his side. And by his own instinct – a new one, frightening – he leaned into her as if to serve that request of protection. 

‘Don’t let any harm come to her.’

“We’ll advance from the back, come out from east. You will not venture off on your own, you must stay by my side and listen. Act fast, don’t dawdle and don’t try and be a hero.” 

A gasp of air escaped her mouth, landed on the naked skin of his neck, he shivered but refused to look back at her. “You understand?” 

No answer. Heavy breathing. An arrow being loaded above them. A nest of birds crying out in warning but no soul taking it. 

“Dh’oine, do you understand?” 

A harsh whimper. 

Iorveth twisted to face her, circled his fingers around her trembling wrist. “Ailidh.” She escaped the trance, eyes no longer hazy and driven by fear. She focused on him and him only, her thin lips parted and red from the dry air. 

“Yes. I understand.” 

“Good, we must go now.” 

He never let go of her wrist as they sprinted through the land thick with green and rain water. Shouts echoed from within the wooden barricades, a faint hue drifted in the air, the poison arrows. He demanded Ailidh hold her breath while they passed through it, only to find that she had been holding her breath anyway. 

Blade unsheathed, he let go of the dh’oine’s wrist and entered the lion’s den. She followed behind, own blade glistening under sunlight. 

“Fuckin’ scoia-tael!” A dh’oine soldier screamed into the air. 

Elven arrows were notched and fired, bodies fell, the ones remaining got into their stance, swords and axes armed and swung, their own archers firing away. Iorveth found cover by crates, dragged Ailidh with him, her legs and hands still trembling. “You must focus, dh’oine! Just like training!” 

“Only a hundred times worse!” She shouted back at him. He smiled. 

“Come on!” Owyn growled from afar, deflecting a blade and striking back, dismembering a soldier’s arm. Ailidh’s attention was drawn to the sight, eyes wide and disturbed. 

Iorveth smiled bigger and leapt from the crates to lunge for an unsuspecting dh’oine, slicing the man’s throat, and in one fluid motion decapitating another who stood near and too slow to retreat.

The soldiers flocked to him, instantly recognising the red over his face, the green eye and cunning sneer. 

“Terrorist cunt!” A giant dh’oine spat, axe’s bit seeping into the soil. Iorveth scoffed, drowning in the blood of those he cut down on the way to the whoreson.

“Thaess aep and fight!” Iorveth hollered back, shoving a useless little rat out of the way – a soldier daring enough to run at him full speed, only to fall in a heap – and sprinting to the mountain of a dh’oine. 

The axe roared in its flight to Iorveth’s skull, only to miss and land into soft earth. Iorveth pirouetted, hit the bastard in the crevice of its armour, blood spitting into his face from the dh’oine’s ribs. It roared and swung again, barely missing a strand of hair. Iorveth felt its motion above him and swore. 

Too close. 

Iorveth dodged blow after blow, tiring the giant and waiting for the perfect opportunity to shove the blade into the things throat. In that time, he sought after Ailidh, half-expecting her to still be hiding. 

Yet there she was, out in the open with eyes wide with rage and fear, arrogance and horror, fighting two soldiers. One flanked her but she was quick enough to duck – so unique to her, the way she moved– and she circled around, slicing into his back with a fierce yelp. Blood spattered onto her innocent face. She twirled her sword and screamed at the remaining soldier whom lunged at her. 

He was pulled back into his own fight however, when the giant soon got sick of his antics and grasped him by the hair, throwing him into the wooden barricade. The crushing tremored up and down his back as he jumped to his feet and ran towards Ailidh, just missing the axe colliding into his abdomen. 

She caught a blow to the face, the soldier’s fist cracking into her cheek, she didn’t make a sound, only swung harder and faster with her blade. Her opponent just as fast, agile and cunning, dodged every hit, deflected and counteracted it. 

She was growing tired. 

Iorveth had to reach her. Owyn and Egan were fighting their own battles, cornered and shouting in elder speech. 

The giant took a swing at his feet before he could make a decision, and he was forced to scramble farther away and reface his persistent opponent who happened to be the size of the Mahakam mountains.

“Iorveth. I’ve heard stories of you and your knife-eared friends. You don’t live up to any of it,” it snickered. 

If Iorveth hadn’t been so focused on getting to Ailidh, he would have responded with something equally stupid, but his mind couldn’t process anything. Eye instinctually checking on the dh’oine girl.

She fled from the soldier, gasping for air. The soldier was too quick, reached her and sliced into her right arm. Surface deep, not bad enough that she’d bleed out, but fuming and painful. She screamed, hoarse and gravelly. 

“Didn’t think you’d go so low as to fight alongside a dh’oine, knife-ears.” Iorveth was forced to confront the giant that looked back and forth between him and Ailidh.

Iorveth bared his teeth and growled, a disgust in himself for thinking the words in his head. 

Thinking of the dh’oine girl looking at him the way she did without meaning to. Lips parted, doe eyes seeing him in a way no one else did. With hope, with light and humour. With innocence. 

“Bloede pavienn!” 

Iorveth lost all humanity, all pity. Tightening his grip, knuckles white, he barged. Launched himself into the air via a fallen aedirnian rebel, and forced the tip of his blade into the giant’s right eye. 

Iorveth landed atop of the giant, as its fingers twitched, axe dropped and blood gushed down its face. Its flesh churned and twisted with Iorveth’s sword, he slid it out and flicked the blood, eye and brain off of it. 

Ailidh…

Iorveth abandoned the carcass and searched the grave yard for her, heart riveting against his chest. 

‘Promise me Iorveth.’

Yet there she was, out in the open, standing over a bloodied body. The body of her opponent. Tears spiralled down her cheeks, glistening amongst sweat and blood. 

“Ailidh!” 

Her eyes jumped up to him.

To Owyn. 

The boy practically ran into her, grasping her by the shoulders and turning her so that he could analyse her wounds. 

Iorveth was right in the end, she would be scarred. 

Purple and green, a bruise saturated into the skin of her cheek. Blood seeped into her tunic in more than one place. 

She sobbed, and Owyn brought her into his arms, held her close. Her wet face delved into the crook of the boy’s neck; his hand cradled the back of her head. He allowed her to mourn. 

Iorveth allowed them both to mourn.

And for once, battle and death weren’t the only things on his mind. 

~

“They’re planning an attack on the city of Vengerberg. There must be a greater number of them than we predicted,” Iorveth thought aloud, while reading the documents they had raided from the encampment. 

Jaime huffed. “Is this worth it? Sir, it’s only a matter of time before the aedirnians catch on, fight back. We’re not strong enough for that.” 

Iorveth nodded. “The danger is considerable, admittedly, but we need a foundation. We can’t just offer a deal to the black ones without one.”

“We’ve done enough. It’s time to make that deal. We show them the documents, that’s enough.” 

Iorveth sighed, brushing a hand down his face. 

They had definitely done more than enough, but the Nilfgaardians had a different idea of what that meant. With the history between them and the scoia-tael, there was no such thing as enough. There would be reluctance in the least for a deal to be dealt. 

But, Iorveth knew very well that they’d almost exhausted all their resources, all their strength. They couldn’t continue the sneaking, raiding and fighting. They needed allies.

Iorveth looked up at his second in command, standing amongst some of his brightest warriors. Their eyes; green, brown, blue … they all waited for him to give them security, to give them a future. 

Brown eyes…

The dh’oine girl was being treated in the infirmary, by Irra no doubt. Bruised and cut. Black and blue. Would she still hold that innocent colour in her eyes? In her lips and cheeks? 

It haunted him, the way she growled and screamed like a lioness. Fierce and vulnerable, fearless and afraid. Her teeth snapped together like a rabid dog, territorial and willing to die for something, for someone that hated her. A force stronger than he could have ever imagined coming from the awkward creature. 

She wasn’t prey. 

They wouldn’t be prey. 

“Send a message out to the others. We are reforging the Vrihedd Brigade.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I made myself all giddy writing this.   
> Here's some fluff for you Iorveth stans!   
> This is just how I think he'd act towards those he cares for in a delicate way, while no one was watching.  
> There's something soft about him when he's not murdering people, and you can't tell me otherwise!  
> Oh, and Ailidh is a Taurus! XD   
> Tell me what you think Iorveth's star sign would be, actually, if you follow astrology, tell me what you think his whole god damn natal chart would be, same with Ailidh!

“Belleteyn … when was the last time we celebrated it?” 

“Oh, perhaps a decade ago,” Irra laughed, and Ailidh joined in with her. “Vengerberg. We travelled to Vengerberg for a few days. You were not awake long the night of celebrations, too overwhelmed by the crowd and noise.” 

Ailidh smiled. She remembered bits and pieces of that night. Colourful flowers, food and gowns. The scent of perfume and wine. The taste of candy and delicious sweets. Fireworks, the world glowing beneath the sparkling lights, the sky beaming in fire. 

But then she remembered crying. Barely any sleep. Flashing memories of a past life. Nightmares and hallucinations. 

She frowned and looked Irra in the eyes. 

“Why did we stop? Why did we never celebrate again?” 

Irra stiffened. 

So familiar, the way Irra would hesitate whenever Ailidh asked a question unsuspicious but hiding something tragic. A secret kept from her. 

“I… I don’t know. I suppose the environment was harsh for you. I did not particularly like it either.” 

A lie. It was a lie. Yet Ailidh didn’t have the heart to confront Irra, or perhaps she was afraid that if she mentioned it, it’d become all too real. Part of her, somewhere inside her, a fragment of a little girl, knew exactly everything hidden. Ailidh could sense it, could sense the truth so close but so guarded. 

But if she thought hard enough, images and words, voices … they’d form the mirage of a memory. Just a dream…

“Come on child, please let me put at least one flower in your hair, it will look pretty!” 

“Fine… fine, just don’t let me look foolish.”

Ailidh sat still, and watched on as Irra used delicate fingers to half-up braid oily hair. The reflection was much like the dirtied mirages inside her mind, old and worn out, but somehow clear if looked into in the right-angle, in the right lighting. 

Irra was concentrated with brushing out any knots, too busy entwining small little flowers in the braid to notice the swelling of Ailidh’s eyes. The tear threatening to fall from her lower lid. 

Belleteyn. The first dawn of May. Midnight of the last day of April…

She was born then…

That was her birthdate. 

The tear fell, but the mirror didn’t echo the vision back to her, just a mirage of smiling lips and blue eyes looking on in pride for her “daughter”. 

Her birth mothers’ eyes weren’t blue, they were black, and her fathers’ eyes, they were hazel. Her brother’s eyes the same as hers, a simple brown. Not beautiful blue, stern and bright. All those eyes once looked at her the way Irra looked at her now. 

Proud and loving. 

Family. 

One birthday, they travelled to Vengerberg to celebrate both Belleteyn and her birthday, what age, Ailidh couldn’t decipher. Ancient and before she went with Irra. She’d been there more than once, more than Irra knew. 

Or perhaps Irra did know? Kept it hidden to protect her childish heart.

“Look at you. You are the sweetest creature on this earth.” Irra’s hands played with her hair, nails gently scratching at her scalp and soothing the pain. Ailidh inclined into the motherly touch. So in her nature to be so close to family, to a mother’s love. Guilt, and shame. Comfort and warmth. 

“Thank you,” Ailidh whispered, eyes following one little red flower as it fell from her hair and into her lap.

~

Above the caves they celebrated the beginning of summer, the peak of spring. They danced around the giant bonfire, sang and laughed. Fireworks gleamed in the distance, out west, down south, in all colours of the rainbow. 

The night air warm and thick, drowning in fire and crowded forests. The squirrels climbed their trees and picked flowers, kissed under starlight and clasped hands around their own sun, the light of hundreds of burning branches. The trees of their land.

“You look so different with it down,” Owyn said, a smile on his lips as he gazed down the hair on her head. 

“I hope you mean in a good way.” Ailidh curled her fingers into the strands, finding it to be softer after the treatment Irra gave to it. 

Owyn laughed, showing off dimples and a cheeky glint in his eyes, “You, for once, look like a woman. A young virgin maiden, daughter of the earth. A may bride –”

“-yes, yes. I get the picture. I still feel like an idiot. I don’t like being this …”

“Pretty? You don’t like looking pretty?” 

Ailidh’s turn to laugh, she shook her head. “Maybe. It just feels awkward, like I’m trying to be something I’m not. Look at you aen seidhe, all beautiful without effort.” 

He looked smug after that comment and shrugged his shoulders. “Not our fault. And is that jealousy I can hear?” He sipped loudly on his wine, enticing Ailidh to do the same. 

Sweet and chilled, it refreshed her in ways the night breeze couldn’t. “Possibly. We’re not all perfect.” 

It was silent after that. 

Ailidh took to being a witness to the celebrations more than being an active participant. 

After a while Owyn left her side for Egan and Feindhelm. Sick of her awkward dawdling perhaps. She smirked thinking about how out of place she was in a forest of beautiful elves. 

She caught sight of Irra and Nessa dancing. So graceful and elegant, lithe bone structure and kind voices. So beautiful. It enchanted Ailidh to see them laughing and stumbling around in their attempts at spinning. 

How much awe was unhealthy? Enough to intoxicate someone beyond seeing stars and losing cognitive thinking and movement? 

Happiness and beauty. Spring and summer. 

She was just a child in a world of adults, naïve and stupid. Never to be like Egan and Maeve, so carefree in the presence of their tribe. Never to be like Nessa or Jaime, feminine and ethereal. Never to be like … 

Iorveth. 

The red string, eyes locking, forever destined to stare at a distance. 

Ailidh’s cheeks warmed and she forced herself to look down briefly, hoping it would seem as though they hadn’t locked eyes in the first place. However, when her eyes leapt back up in his direction, he seemed closer … He was walking in her direction, a smile on his lips. So weird…

He was weird. He looked at her weird and it made her feel weird. Ailidh scoffed as he finally made it to just a few inches away from her feet, standing high above her as she sat down slack and hunched over on the log. 

“You look … different.” Ailidh couldn’t decide whether it was genuine or sarcastic, his voice always did that to her. 

“Not you too.” 

Iorveth’s brow raised as he considered her a moment, just as he considered the tankard in her hand. 

“Owyn said the same thing. Said something along the lines of … ‘you look pretty for once’, I mean, what does that even mean?” 

“I think you’ve had enough, dh’oine.” His hand, veiny and larger than her own, stole the cup away from her. She couldn’t resist, he was correct in his observation. She felt the drowsiness in her body as one feels sunlight on their skin. 

“Smart of you. That was my fifth one. Maybe even seventh.” 

“Incredible, I would never have believed otherwise.” 

“Sarcastic as ever, you always have something witty to say, I wish I was like that,” Ailidh said, standing abruptly from her seat, meeting eyes with Iorveth, forcing him to recline back. 

“I can assure you Dh’oine, that my sarcasm and wit is very unintentional.” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? It didn’t,” Ailidh laughed, making sure to smile wide at him. Wouldn’t want him to feel offended.

“It’s good to see your wounds have healed. Barely visible.” His thumb brushed over where the soldier had hit. It was almost gone in its entirety, thanks to Irra. Ailidh stepped away from his touch, nodding in agreement. 

His green eye squinted in a way that plunged guilt within Ailidh. He was only trying to be kind. “Sorry. As you can probably tell, I’m a bit drunk –”

“-and upset about something might I add. Your creases are showing,” he said, a sneaky smile on his soft lips. Ailidh was taken aback, but soon remembered he had a way of seeing things no one wanted him to see. 

“Not even Irra can see through me that well,” Ailidh laughed, feeling a little more sober. 

“What’s wrong this time?” 

Ailidh’s mouth moved as to respond. Respond with all honesty, relentless and vulnerable to the aen seidhe legend. 

As of late, Iorveth had a talent of drawing out her true feelings. But it wasn’t one sided. He’d tell her things too. Things no one else would hear. If anyone else would have told her that she and the great Iorveth would have a secret pact, the trust to tell each other their deepest worries, she would have thought they were joking. 

“Not here. In fact, I’m going for a walk, I need to get sober.” 

“If we must.” Ailidh began to walk away from their discussion before realising he was following behind. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What do you mean, dh’oine? You said not here?” 

Ailidh looked out to the others around the bonfire, further away from the edge of the clearing, where she planned on delving into. “That’s, that’s not what I… Don’t you want to stay here? With your friends?” 

“They won’t miss me,” Iorveth said in a way that told her there would be no arguing. He took the lead deeper into the forest, and she was the one to follow closely behind. 

“You’re so bossy.” 

“I heard that, dh’oine.”

~

Ailidh rested amongst a cluster of flowers, legs crossed and hands fiddling with the skirt of her tunic. Iorveth joined her after a time of stargazing.

“How’re you feeling?” 

“Much better… thank you Iorveth, you didn’t have to come out here with me,” Ailidh whispered, regretting the five, or, seven drinks she had. 

“I didn’t, but I wanted to. Celebrations aren’t my forte.” 

Ailidh smiled big at him, watching closely as he leaned back onto his palms spread out behind him, eye looking up through the trees and into the night sky. “Still. I’m not much better. Maybe, maybe even worse. I have a lot of emotional baggage I suppose.” 

A raspy chuckle came from his throat, and he stared down at her, no longer entranced by the stars. “As do I dh’oine. There’s not one soul without so.” 

Music played back near the fire, and Ailidh swayed her neck in sync with the melody. “I’m guessing you want to know what’s wrong?” 

“Of course,” he answered quick and agile. 

“As of midnight, I should be nineteen years old.” It didn’t seem to click with him, and Ailidh was forced to say it directly, “It’s my birthday, well, is going to be depending on what time it is.” 

“Belleteyn. You were born during Belleteyn?” Iorveth grinned to himself, eye skimming the flowers. “It makes sense. You are very much a child of spring.” 

“What does that mean?” Ailidh asked softly, thinking back to all the times Irra would call her a flower child when she was little. 

“Nothing really. It’s metaphorical, not founded in logic. You’ve so much hope, a bit like spring. Life blooms after cold winter, compassion after sadness and defeat.” 

Ailidh stared harder into Iorveth, saw the flicker of grief of his own. “Not all flowers die in winter. It’s a common misconception that things die in the cold. A lot of things thrive in it, are stronger because of and during it. You remind me of that.” 

His eye dwelled over her hair for a time after her confession. 

“Dance with me.” 

“What?” 

Ailidh didn’t have time to think, not before Iorveth was on his feet and had her pulled up with him, hands clasped around hers tightly. “We can’t say we celebrated Belleteyn without at least one dance,” Iorveth joked, placing her hands on his shoulders and his own on her waist. 

He was warm, kept her protected from the sudden cold, now that they were away from the bonfire, from the others. Their feet moved them in soft circles throughout the small clearing. She couldn’t prevent the bubbling laughter.

“You, you of all people, being a good dancer!”

“Is it that shocking?” he said in that sarcastic, dry voice of his while he twirled her away from him, lazy and slow, bringing her back at a similar pace. 

“No, no actually, it’s not.” 

Their dance paused when the next set of fireworks burst into the sky, flickering and reflecting into their eyes. Ailidh watched them in his, he noticed after a while and smiled down at her. Palm resting on the back of her head, he brought her closer to him, her nose delved into the crook of his neck.

Ailidh closed her eyes, smiled into his skin, hiding away from the cold and cuddling into his torso as they swayed. 

Iorveth. He felt like home, she wondered if she felt the same to him.


End file.
